


My Eyes, They Speak for Me

by Lifeinahole



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2017-03-10
Packaged: 2018-09-17 15:28:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 33,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9331517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lifeinahole/pseuds/Lifeinahole
Summary: Canon divergence from 3x13 onward, where Walsh never reveals himself and Storybrooke isn’t where it should be. Emma and Killian have to not only find a way back to Storybrooke and Emma’s family, but keep each other and Henry safe in the process.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [swankkat (solitarystroll)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/solitarystroll/gifts).



> Written for the Gutterflower Secret Santa exchange on Tumblr, as a gift to swakkat. Part 1 rated T, Part 2 will be rated M.

The moments driving away from Storybrooke are painful because there in her rear-view mirror, she has to say goodbye. She memorizes the details quickly before she forgets them forever: her parents crying, Regina sullen and heartbroken, Neal wistful and sad over what could’ve been, and Hook… She swallows down the sob that threatens to break free.

Her family, her past, her future, all huddled together at the town line as the curse comes to take them away. She turns it into a joke as she puts the Bug in gear and drives forward. _My parents, my ex, and a pirate walk into a bar…_ and the absurdity pushes a smile onto her face. She’s wearing that smile when they cross the town line and…

She doesn’t know why she’s smiling, other than her son is in the passenger seat taking in the scenery like he’s never seen it before. Which is ridiculous, of course, because he saw it on the drive up. This was just what they needed. A small escape from reality before starting fresh. She’s not excited about finding a new place to live, or buying new clothes, or finding a new school for Henry, but she knows it is all stuff that has to be done when they get to New York.

Three weeks after they find the perfect apartment, Emma realizes the cord tied around her wrist is a lace of a shoe or a boot or something, but she doesn’t remember who it belonged to or why she wears it. She also can’t find her swan pendant, but figures it must’ve been lost in the fire in Boston. It makes her a little sad, to not have that talisman of what was lost, but with Henry at her side, who needs a necklace?

A couple weeks later she starts having strange dreams. One is of Neal, which is odd because she hasn’t seen him since he left her to take the fall for the watches, and she hasn’t even thought about him since Henry asked about his father when he was ten. Or was he younger? Or was he older? She tries to remember that talk but it’s like reaching into her purse for a stick of gum. She knows it’s in there, but she just can’t find it.

She dreams about pirates and wolves, and wakes up tugging on that shoelace on her wrist and the urge to drink rum until everything feels normal again. She scrunches up her nose at the thought, because rum over her cornflakes doesn’t sound like the worst idea she’s ever had and that in itself is not normal at all.

“Henry, do you ever dream about pirates?” she asks over breakfast.

“Like Jack Sparrow?” he counters, eyebrow raised in question, and the gesture snaps at a chord in her memories but it’s that stick of gum all over again. She laughs it off and tells him they need to stop watching movies before bed so she stops having weird dreams. Of course, even after they put a gap between movies and bedtime, she still has the dreams, even if she can’t fully remember them.

Somehow, they feel like something private she should cherish and hold on to, as long as she can.

-x-

Nights in the Enchanted Forest are quiet, more so than Killian wants to think about. There’s no occasional rumble of an automobile, or the other sounds he didn’t realize he’d gotten used to in the land without magic. So he drinks. He drinks and gambles and loots and says the appropriate pirate things at the proper times.

When they get through a particularly fruitful raid, the crew pools together some money and buys the time of a pretty lass with curly brown hair. That his crew has chosen his old preferences instead of long, golden hair speaks volumes with how much he’s shared with them lately. It matters not, as he hands her another sack of coins and sends her on her way, preceding a debacle with a mermaid that he’d rather not have dealt with at all.

He keeps his word and thinks of Emma no less than once per day.

When he gets the Jolly Roger back, it’s the first he’s felt right since coming back to this land. The wood is steady beneath his feet even when the sea is rocky with storms, and he sleeps through the night for the first time in ages to the gentle sway of the ship when it calms back down.

He dreams of Emma when it’s least convenient, when he’s gone to bed cold and lonely with too many libations in his system. He mostly dreams of that one damn kiss he got from her before it all went to hell. She’s there in his dreams with that sad smile and one single word in response to his confession before their departure, not a single second of hesitation between the two, and the hope that shot straight through his heart in that instant. He dreams of the glowing red lights as they went over the town line, how he could see them until the smoke of Pan’s curse got too thick, and how he’d never seen any two beams look more sinister.

In the daytime, it’s back to his normal demeanor and internal sighs. When they make port, he sees a flash of blonde and almost goes after it before resigning himself to the fact that it was _not_ Emma, and he had to give his foolish heart a rest for falling in love with a woman he will never see again.

It’s not until he gets a message sending him back to the land without magic that the hope he covets in his dreams starts to materialize itself again in his chest.

It’s not until he’s standing outside an apartment building in New York City that the hope threatens to overrun his emotions, as he sees a flash of blonde hair and knows it belongs to the one he wants it to belong to.

But it’s far too late at night and she’s just arriving home from some sort of employment, so he returns to Baelfire’s old apartment and restlessly tosses around on the couch until he can return to Emma’s building in the morning.

-x-

There’s this really beautiful moment, right after Emma takes the memory potion, that she’ll cherish forever. It’s this perfect second where her mind is in order, her thoughts and memories compartmentalized with everything she thinks she’s been through. And after that singular moment, it’s like uninvited guests barge in and throw their baggage everywhere, covering every surface from floor to ceiling.

Looking at the man standing across from her and acknowledging that she knows him takes a great deal of effort, especially as she wades through thoughts of him and Neverland, his lips hungrily moving against hers, which is almost a complete contrast to the way he kissed her when she opened the door for him the other morning. She says his name, more a reflex than anything, and his face transforms from the uncertain and worried look he was previously giving her, to one of cocky reassurance. When he asks if she missed him, she swallows hard.

With everything swimming together in her head, she’s unable to think straight, so does the only thing she can do and invites him back to her place for a drink and an explanation. He’s open and honest with her, admitting that he left the group, left her _parents_ because there was nothing left for him. His quiet admissions that he came back to save her gives her goosebumps, and she’s glad she’s wearing long sleeves and can hide her reaction behind a sip of her rum and asking more questions.

When Walsh shows up, her stomach drops through the floor. Explaining to Hook that he’s her boyfriend sucks, and telling him that they’ve had a happy relationship for eight months sucks worse, because he looks like some combination of angry, sad, and jealous and she has no idea what to do with that, so she tells him to stay put while she takes Walsh to the rooftop patio to talk to him.

“Emma, it’s okay to make a bold, romantic gesture without passing it off as a housekeeping malfunction,” Walsh says, that smirk she loves on his face and that twinkle in his eyes.

Oh god, he thinks she’s going to accept his proposal, and this is just as bad as the pirate brooding in her apartment right now.

“Walsh,” she starts, and his heavy sigh indicates that he knows what she’s going to say. “I can’t marry you.”

In their eight months together, they never fought. They had minor disagreements over who paid the bill and who chose the movie they were going to watch, but they never fought, and this is the closest they’ve gotten to it. He acts affronted by her sudden refusal, and the fact that she has history. She’s not totally lying when she says she blocked it out.

“If you love this life, then keep it,” he urges. “Stay. Just stay.” And it sounds so simple when he says it like that. She’s about to respond that she can’t, but he pleads his case. “You won’t find a storybook romance, Emma. You won’t find a fairy tale out there.”

And it should be romantic, but something about the tone of his voice and the way he says it makes her lie-detector fire up and she controls her face and breathing.

“Okay,” she tells him, swaying into his space and smiling up at him.

“Okay?” he echoes, his eyebrows raised and his look disbelieving.

“Yeah.” She leans up and kisses him, soft and simple, and even that feels like a lie now so she doesn’t let it progress. “But I wasn’t lying about my apartment. I want to get it cleaned up and have all the laundry done before Henry gets home tomorrow morning. Can we plan dinner for later this week?”

“Of course,” he says, his smile calm and his whole demeanor relaxed.

He says goodnight at her door, kissing her on the cheek before he walks back towards the elevator. When she walks back into her apartment, Hook is still where she left him, nursing another glass of rum, sullenly staring at the table.

“Did you end things then?” he asks, glancing up at her briefly before looking again at the liquid in his glass.

“Not exactly.” She props up against the kitchen counter, too keyed up to sit but not wanting to let Hook know just how unsettled she really is.

His head swivels in her direction, staring hard at her, before he sees her expression. “What is it?”

“I don’t know yet. But there’s something off about this whole thing.”

The comments about storybooks and fairy tales would’ve gone straight over her head had she not taken that potion; it would’ve just been something to either make or break the conversation. And Emma before the potion would’ve just accepted it and decided to stay, so that’s what she did.

Emma after the potion knows that there _is_ a storybook out there, and that fairy tales _do_ exist. Proof is sitting at her kitchen table fiddling with his fake hand where she’s used to seeing a hook.

“What are you going to do about it?” he asks after giving her a few minutes to process.

“I don’t know that yet, either. Listen, I’m gonna get some sleep. Meet me back here in the morning and we’ll regroup. Figure out what to do.”

“Aye, that sounds like a solid plan.” He drains his glass, bringing it and Emma’s abandoned glass back to and placing them in the sink when she gestures toward it. “Sleep well, Swan.”

She lets him out after muttering her own goodnight and leaning heavily against the door when she’s alone. What she said to Hook earlier had been true. When she woke up that morning, she had been nothing more than a mother, but now the stole of Savior is heavy around her shoulders again, and she’s not entirely sure she wants it back.

Her parents are the strongest people she knows. If there’s another curse, surely they can handle it on their own. Who knows if they’re even back in Storybrooke. The entire place is supposed to be gone, according to what Regina said. It shouldn’t exist. And she doesn’t even know how Hook got back here, so how is she supposed to figure out how to get back to the Enchanted freaking Forest?

Because she can’t do anything to solve that tonight, she dips into the other half of the problem. Settled back in her pajamas, Emma sits down at the table with her computer. The search engines she uses for work are all fired up and running, looking to find any piece of information about Walsh that doesn’t add up to what he told her.

By the time Hook shows back up in the morning, she’s barely slept, she’s packed suitcases for Henry and herself, and all she has left to do is ask one of the neighbors to keep an eye on the place while they’re out of town. And tell Walsh, but she has no idea what she’s going to say to him yet, so she’s holding off on that. Hook takes one look at the bags sitting by the wall and raises an eyebrow at her.

“Planning an excursion, Swan?”

“Yup. We have to get back to Storybrooke.” The last of the dishes are still waiting in the sink for her, so she busies herself with those while trying to figure out how to explain all of this to Hook.

“Not that I’m not pleased with the change of tone from yesterday, but what’s happened to make you change your mind about this? I was sure I would need at least another week of sleeping in that bloody park before I convinced you to at least go see your family.”

She just manages to catch the glass that slips from her fingers as what he’s said sinks in. “Sleeping in the – Hook, have you been sleeping in Central Park?”

“There were plenty of other gentlemen occupying the benches. Drink enough rum and you don’t even notice the chill. And my neighbors were happy for the libations. I fail to see the problem here, Swan.” He’s wandering by the windows, looking out on the city around them and admiring the plants that she and Henry have been cultivating in their little living space. He may have hundreds of years of experience as far as life lessons go, but he’s little more than a foreigner in this land.

“Those men are homeless, and it’s not safe to just sleep out in the open like that. You’re lucky you haven’t been robbed. Or _stabbed_. You went back to Neal’s apartment for the camera, so why haven’t you just been staying there?”

“Someone saw me going into Baelfire’s apartment after our first encounter and didn’t seem to like the look of me. I locked the place up and haven’t returned.”

“Great. That’s something else we’ll have to figure out.”

“Something else? There’s more to figure out then?” She gives him a look at that, lifting an eyebrow because it should be no surprise at this point that.

“Well, it turns out there’s more than just a message telling you to find me. Because I can’t have nice things, it turns out there’s something strange about Walsh, but I can’t prove it yet.” Her hand is halfway to her face to rub tiredly at her forehead, but Hook catches her forearm gently in his hand. He glances down and she sees the suds still covering her fingers, and while Hook lets go and moves back a few steps, Emma still feels claustrophobic and annoyed at herself.

“What do you mean by ‘strange’?”

“He said something to me last night about fairy tales, and I can’t – I can’t _explain_ it, but it made my super power go off.”

“I believe you, then.”

She would question his unwavering faith in her gut instinct, but this is the same man who once told her he’d yet to see her fail. Something tells her she couldn’t sway him from believing in her if she tried, which is probably the weirdest part of all of this.

“I can’t break up with him yet. He can’t know I’m back to being myself – the Savior – so we have to come up with a story. I’m gonna tell him I’m going to visit friends for the weekend or something and then find a way to blow him off. Then I’ll just have my stuff shipped again like I did when I moved there.”

“And what do you need me to do?” He looks restless, the plan taking root in his bones like it’s already taken to hers.

“Clear out for a little bit. I’ll give you some money and you can grab us coffee or breakfast or something. Just give me a bit of time to explain to Henry what’s going on.”

“As you wish,” he says, that little half smile tilting up one corner of his mouth, and it takes all of her self-control to not roll her eyes or smile at his antics. He lets himself out and she takes one more moment to breathe through the lists in her head one more time before she notices her hands are itching from the water drying on them.

With finality, Emma turns back to the sink and finishes the dishes. Henry is going to be home soon, and she hasn’t figured out what to tell him yet, either, but thankfully he’s eleven and will believe most things she tells him.

As if thinking about Henry summons him, the door swings open and he comes barreling into the apartment, already babbling about whatever horror movie he and Avery watched when they were supposed to be going to bed. Seeing as Halloween is next week, she’s not really surprised.

She listens to him talking as she finishes rinsing the last plate and leaves it to dry, making sure to give all the appropriate responses and give him her attention as she wipes out the sink and turns back to him.

Before he can question her, she gives him one instead. “Do you believe in magic?”

He answers immediately with a simple “of course” that has her raising her eyebrows, but he continues on about the Tooth Fairy and Santa and the Easter Bunny, stating that as long as it gets him a present, he’ll believe it. She scoffs as he continues, turning to wipe down the counters this time as well.

The knock on the door comes about the same time that Henry notices the suitcases packed by the wall, and she watches his eyebrows furrow. “Are you expecting someone?”

With one shaky inhale and exhale, she answers affirmative as she sets the rag down and walks to the door. Hook’s leaning against the opposite wall, cocky smirk in place, with a plastic bag hanging from his fake hand and a drink carrier in his real one. He bustles past her and heads straight for the island where Henry is still sitting, and Emma follows on his heels, just barely managing to get back around him before he can say anything.

“Henry this is… Killian. He’s – I’m, um, I’m helping him with his case.”

“Did you skip bail?” Henry asks, rising from his chair and coming to check out the man dressed in what has to be an extensive amount of cows in her son’s eyes.

“Ah, he’s still a little spitfire.”

“Still?”

She could punch Hook right now. Right in the mouth. Because Henry is looking at her like she’s lying and she wishes Hook could’ve waited at least five more minutes so she could’ve come up with a better story.

“He’s not a perp, he’s a client.” That’ll help, right?

“Why are you dressed like that?”

She wants to go back to bed immediately, especially when the childish answer comes from her right.

“Why’re you dressed like _that_?” Hook counters, a perturbed look on his face and a rigidity to his posture that she can only describe as “bristling like angry cat.”

“All right, just focus on breakfast first. I have a call to make. I’ll be right back.”

She’s not so sure about leaving the two of them alone together, mostly because she doesn’t know what embarrassing things Henry will say and what embarrassing things Hook will respond. But there’s a huge part of her that’s grateful to be walking out to the roof again so she can call Walsh and fudge another story instead of dealing with the two of them.

-x-

The silence that descends on the apartment after Emma leaves is almost stifling. Henry hasn’t looked away from him, thankfully focusing on his face rather than the unnatural stiffness of the hand he doesn’t yet know is fake. The ogling is unnerving, to say the least.

“So Killian,” Henry starts, backing up and perching on his seat once more. “How do you know my mom?”

“We’re old acquaintances,” he tells the lad, because it’s the first thing that comes to mind. He sets down the breakfast bounty that he found, handing over one of the hot chocolates for Henry and pulling various baked goods from the other bag.

After taking a tentative sip from the hot chocolate, Henry’s wary demeanor seems to soften a little bit. The bagels that he’s purchased also seem to appease the boy, so he leans against the sink in quiet contemplation before Henry speaks again.

“I’ve never heard anything about you before. And my mom tells me everything.”

“We lost contact for a long time, against my wishes.” He decides immediately that he also doesn’t want to directly lie to Henry. When his memories are returned, perhaps he’ll appreciate the gesture.

They fall back into silence, which is minimally less uncomfortable than it was before, and wait for Swan to return. She’s gone for longer than Killian expected her to be, however, so the minimal amount of camaraderie that he might have gained with Henry seems to be dissipating with every passing minute.

When she finally does return, she looks angry and upset, and it takes a great deal of his control to not rush to her side.

“What is it, Swan? What’s the matter?”

“Henry, I think I forgot to pack your DS. Why don’t you go collect that and see if there’s anything else I didn’t pack for you? You can pack an extra bag if you need to.”

“What’s going on, mom?”

“Well, it’s over with Walsh.” He and Henry both exclaim their surprise, but she shoos Henry off to his room. “We’ll talk about it later,” she tells Henry, until he finally nods his head and turns for his room. Once his door is shut, Emma sits down in his abandoned seat and rests her head on her folded arms.

“What happened, love?” He doesn’t mean to reach out and touch her, but he can’t seem to help the gentle brush of his fingers over her bicep. She jerks upright as he pulls away, and he’s shocked to find the tears in her eyes, threatening to spill over.

“He got angry with me when I told him I was going on a trip. He asked if I was going alone, or if Henry was going with me, and I told him I was going to be helping someone with a case.” She closes her eyes for a second, swiping at them quickly to get rid of the moisture there, before opening them and hardening her expression. “He never had a problem with my work before, so I fought back, and when he insinuated that I was sleeping with you less than a day after you showed back up in my life, I ended it.”

She pauses for another minute after that, clearing the emotions from her voice and shaking herself back to solid. “Something still doesn’t feel right,” she suggests again, and Killian can feel it. He doesn’t know what her life has been like in this city, or what her relationship has been. As much as he wants to be objective about it, though, it still feels like there’s something they’re both missing from the grand picture.  

He waits in the passenger seat of the car while Emma explains the breakup to Henry. Emma tries to keep her face neutral, and watches as Henry does his best to mirror her, but they both crack a little at seeing the other upset. By the time they climb into the vehicle – Henry to the backseat with his pillow and a blanket, and all the technology a young boy could need in this land, and Swan to the driver’s seat – they’re both back to hard expressions, both unreadable, and both closed off. He internally sighs once, and waits for them to both let go of their emotions enough to have conversations with again. Until then, he’s content to settle into the passenger seat until they reach Storybrooke.

So he’s surprised when they pull up outside of what Swan calls an “outlet mall” and she turns to shake Henry awake.

“You have your emergency phone, right?”

Henry nods enthusiastically when she asks, and he digs it out of his backpack and powers it on, showing her that it has a full battery.

“Okay, I have to help Killian find new clothes. His all got left behind and he only has this costume. I am giving you a hundred dollars, and you are free to spend it on anything you want. But remember to be smart and careful and don’t talk to strangers, okay? Call me if you need me, and meet us at the food court in an hour.

“Got it, mom!”

As soon as Emma has exited the vehicle, Henry is out of the backseat and already rounding a corner.

She leans back in far enough to address him. “Come on, pirate. We have some shopping to do.”

Surprised, he tries to scramble from the vehicle as she’s locking and closing her door, but he forgets to undo his safety harness first, so she’s already on the sidewalk outside the shops before he’s followed suit, locking his own door and shutting it carefully before hastening after her. Once she sees he’s following, she starts walking again with purpose.

“What are we shopping for, Swan?”

“Something that will make you stand out less. I can’t be traveling to Maine with you looking like Captain Hook.”

“But I am Captain Hook.”

“Yeah, but the rest of the world doesn’t need to know that,” she hisses, all the while scanning the shop windows until she finds one suitable. The inside of the store smells like strong cologne, and Killian tries to school his face to something that doesn’t look like disgust as they walk through. “Okay, pick stuff you like. And we’ll go from there. When we get the pirate doubloon currency exchange back in Storybrooke, you can pay me back.”

The store suddenly feels massive, and he feels utterly lost. The colors all seem so much brighter, the prints harsher, the textures grating, and he wants to swish his coat and walk right back out and back to the car. Emma must sense his hesitation, because she reaches a hand towards him, leaving it just far enough away that she’s not making contact but the meaning is still there.

“Listen, we can stick to all black, if you _obviously_ prefer. But you just need a couple outfits in case we need to travel back to New York again, and you’ll blend in better in clothes from _this_ world.” Her voice is much gentler when she speaks, so he lets his shoulders drop and prepares himself again.

“What do you suggest, Swan?”

They both look around for a minute, their heads swiveling to and fro, until Emma apparently finds something worth their time and she sets off in its direction.

The waistcoat is all black, leather on the front pieces, and the back is satin. It’s like his own, but probably easier to move around in, even if the buttons look downright daunting to a man with only one hand. But if he’s managed this long, he’s sure he can tackle this as well. With that as their starting point, they set out to find shirts that will match it, and trousers. She picks up what she calls “jeans” in a black instead of what he recognizes as her usual blue, and shoves him in the direction of the fitting rooms with a hasty selection of undergarments.

“If you need any help,” she starts, but he’s charmed by the way she coughs and looks anywhere but at him for a second.

“I do believe I’ll manage, love.”

Over the time allotted until they reunite with Henry, he tries on several different sizes of items, occasionally exiting the dressing room to ask if she approves of a combination. She stares at his bare feet for the entirety of one of those moments, until she snatches one of his boots from the room and wanders away for a few minutes.

When he comes back out in a different shirt, and a pair of the jeans that actually fit comfortably, she’s holding a box with a modern pair of shoes in them.

“Try those on, too. Give me anything you’re comfortable with after you’ve changed out of those and I’ll go pay. Once they’re paid for, I’ll bring back an outfit for you to wear out of here.”

The minutes he stands nude in the dressing room waiting for Emma are almost painfully boring. And he spends far too long looking at his reflection in the mirror, cataloguing his own scars, rubbing a hand along his wrist and anxious to put the brace back on. He cocks his head to the side as he considers his assets in the harsh lighting, and wonders if this is what all men do in dressing rooms, or if they even care at all.

A pair of the undergarments he selected comes back over the doorway, followed by a pair of socks.

“Ready for the rest?” Emma asks from the other side of the door, but before he can even answer, she’s swinging an outfit over the door, now without the hangers and price tags. The box with the boots is the last thing to come through, and he’s grateful she pushes that under the small gap beneath the door.

With the help of the zippers on the shoes and his incredible dexterity, getting dressed is much less of a hassle than he expected, and he exits the dressing room with his clothes draped over his left arm. She takes everything from him and shoves it unceremoniously into one of the shopping bags, and he scoffs when she tries to take the coat.

“I can wear my own bloody coat, Swan.”

“You can wear it a week from now in Storybrooke in honor of Halloween. We’ll find a jacket or something for you to wear. Besides, you’re probably already warmer with all those buttons done up.”

He glances down at his chest when she finishes, looking at the smaller expanse of hair on display and frowning at it. “The garments in this realm are cut so much higher.”

She chuckles as they leave the store, heading to wherever the food court is located to find Henry again. “You look fine.”

“I look plain and ordinary.”

“You could wear a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt and you _still_ wouldn’t look ordinary,” she states, but either she didn’t mean to say it at all or didn’t mean to say it in such a salacious tone, because she blushes once the words are out of her mouth.

There are so many options to choose from when they get to the small hub of restaurants. He follows Emma and lets her lead, picking something close to what she does and quietly picking at it while she scans the room for Henry. She waves him over once she sees him, eyeballing the bag he’s carrying once he’s close enough.

“Just some new games. I didn’t even spend all the money you gave me!” They both look so proud of this fact, that Killian feels proud by default, although he’s not sure why spending less money than he’s allowed would be such a momentous thing.

“I’ll go grab you some food. You want pizza?” Emma asks, standing and edging in that direction before Henry even gives the affirmative.

Once his mother is out of earshot, Henry looks at Killian in a way that screams of weighing and measuring. Perhaps with the new clothes, he finds something he approves of, though.

“That outfit is much better than your pirate costume. Although, I guess if you had a hook it would be a pretty cool getup.”

He bites his tongue, keeping that secret for now. “What kind of games did you purchase for yourself, lad?”

Henry looks at the bag he’s propped on the seat next to him, but he changes the subject again. “Are you trying to date my mom?”

“Um.”

“Because I think if she just got out of a relationship with Walsh that you should at least wait. You don’t want to rush her or anything or else she might freak out and just leave you behind or something.”

“I’ll make note of that, lad. But while I care for your mother deeply, I am not ah, attempting to court her, at least at this present moment.”

The boy considers him again, this time looking almost sympathetic.

“Good luck with that, buddy.”

Emma’s back before he can respond, so he does his best to bring his jaw back up from the floor. He spends most of his meal listening to the easy conversation between Emma and Henry. She’s obviously retained the effortless communication she had with him while her memories were gone, and if he wanted to, he could pretend that they’re just three average people, out for shopping at this outlet mall and enjoying their day.

As he fiddles with the cuff of the sleeve that’s holding his brace and fake hand in place, he knows otherwise, but he can pretend just like Emma, so he does.

Henry asks plenty of questions about how they met, and where Killian is from. Emma is much better at coming up with veiled details on the spot, so he answers less than she does, but Henry gives him his full attention whenever he does speak. He tries to act like mobile talking phones and handheld entertainment devices are things that he’s used to, listening attentively as Henry finally divulges what games he purchased and the plotline of one of the games, about a boy named Link sailing the seas with pirates.

Before they leave the shopping complex, Emma spots something in one of the stores and tells them to wait outside while she runs in, and when she returns, she takes the bags back from Killian and hands over the new one. Inside is a black leather jacket, with a zipper at the bottom of each sleeve that will more than accommodate his brace. It looks like it was made to match his new modern look, and she urges him to slip it on.

It fits perfectly, which shouldn’t be a surprise to him. Everything weighs so much less than his former clothing, and feels different, but is largely just going to be an adjustment and much less harsh than he originally presumed.

Henry falls asleep almost as soon as they’re back on the road, with the miles and hours stretching before them. He and Emma make small conversation, mostly coded so if Henry is faking sleep that he won’t know what they’re really talking about.

Several miles outside the entrance to Storybrooke, an animal of some kind (though neither he or Emma could say for certain that it was just a deer, or one of the many rodents she’s familiarized him with) darts in front of the vehicle and the car almost swerves into a tree. Henry is shaken awake with the sudden stop, but thankfully his young reflexes catch him before he can slam into the back of the seats.

“What was that?!” he exclaims, eyes wide and breathing heavily, no doubt trying to gain his bearings after the sudden wake up.

“Just a possum, or badger or something. I don’t know, just some kind of animal. You okay, kid? Killian?”

“I’m good,” Henry says, collapsing back against the seat. Killian just nods and visually assesses her to make sure she’s also all right.

When they get to where the town line should be, there’s nothing. Nothing at all. No sign to indicate they’re where they should be. No line painted on the road to indicate the spot where it ends. No clues to show that anything is there at all. They drive all the way through where the main street should be but there’s nothing but woods surrounding them.

“So… what are we looking for out here?” Henry asks when they turn around and drive back.

Killian and Emma are too distracted by what isn’t there to be able to answer his question right away.

“Mom?”

“Sorry kid, it looks like we came all the way up here on a wild goose chase.”

As they slow to a stop in the middle of the street, Killian can almost visualize the shops and sights that should be there. Instead, they’re surrounded by nothing but pitch black, and the feeling that they are being watched.

“Swan,” Killian says, hoping he instills enough warning in his voice to alert her but not Henry.

“Yeah, got it,” she mutters, shifting the car into gear again. She doesn’t drive fast. She almost senses that they need to do what she did with Walsh. They need to be inconspicuous: like there’s nothing out of the ordinary besides finding a lost road.

The sensation of being watched doesn’t fade after they’ve left what would’ve been the town limits. It seems like it follows them all the way back through Maine, and he and Emma struggle to keep up a conversation with Henry about when they drove out this way a year before. Thankfully, he falls asleep, and they lapse into silence as she all but rushes out of the state.

When they reach New Hampshire, Emma finds the first hotel she can and books rooms for them. As soon as she has the keys in hand, she shuffles a half-asleep Henry up to the room they’ll be sharing, and directs Killian to his down the hall.

“How am I supposed to get into the room with this?” he asks, holding up the flimsy card like the ones Emma uses to pay for things.

“You just… You know what? Hang on. Come on Henry.” She leaves him in the hallway with his bags of clothes as she quickly enters the room. If she’d only turned a little, he could’ve seen for himself how to work the bloody thing.

She’s back before he has a chance to get too annoyed, or get more than two strange looks, and she’s also wheeling the smaller suitcase beside her. She takes the bags from him and nods towards the direction of his room.

“Okay, it’s really simple. Take one of the keys –“

“These are supposed to be keys?”

She sighs once. “Yes, Killian. That’s the key to the room. Okay. There’s an arrow on it. Or a triangle. You want to point that down and insert it into the slot – _not yet, Killian_ – and then pull it out fast, okay?”

He stands there looking between the key and the door and Emma for a couple seconds before he gives a good sigh of his own. Why are things so complicated here? He could be in the room, already asleep, if he had a normal bloody key and lock.

It takes four tries, with Emma trying to keep a straight face the whole time, before it finally blinks green and she tells him to turn the handle.

“There you go, buddy. Come on.”

With words alone, she ushers them into the room and drops the bags of clothes on the large bed. There’s just the one, but everything looks pristine and welcoming, and it’s only as he gazes at the large pile of pillows at the top of the bed that he realizes how tired he is. Perhaps his nights of sleeping out in the open were not as restful as he believed they were.

Instead of letting him strip down and sleep, though, Emma insists on helping him with his new wardrobe.

“Swan, I can manage on my own.”

“Something tells me you’re not used to fabric that wrinkles if you just throw it all in a pile. I’ll help you fold these. Here,” she says, handing him what he recognizes as pajama bottoms and a t-shirt. “Go get changed for bed and we can add those clothes to this, too.”

He doesn’t fight her, just takes the items and heads to the bathroom and begins the arduous process of unbuttoning all the buttons to the waistcoat and shirt underneath. He makes sure to remove the boots and socks, as well, holding them awkwardly with the rest of his clothes again draped over his arm as he returns to the main room.

Emma is halfway through folding the piles that she’s dumped out of the bags, and he realizes that he hasn’t seen half of the purchases. There are more shirts, a few more vests all in black, a couple more pairs of trousers, and more of the socks and boxers that she must’ve grabbed when he was trying on the clothing. There’s a lot, but it still appears that it’ll all fit in the suitcase she’s provided him with.

“I’m really glad I went overboard instead of assuming you’d be able to buy more in Storybrooke when we got there. What do you want to wear tomorrow?”

He feels a little like a dress-up doll for a young lass, suddenly, especially with the way her eyes light up as she gestures to the organized piles on the bed. As he hands over the worn items, he just smiles at her and hopes it’s not that soft, lovesick look he usually feels on his face when he’s looking at her. “Surprise me, love.”

He watches as she sets aside undergarments, along with a slightly different pair of the dark jeans and a different vest. She chooses a shirt with some dark pattern, only noticeable up close, then nods in approval at her own choices.

“There. The pjs can get thrown on top. Those will be fine until we get back to the city.” She busies herself stacking each of the piles into the suitcase, zipping it closed and setting it on the chair in the corner before she moves his chosen outfit to rest on top of it. When she turns to leave, Killian still hasn’t moved, so she almost runs directly into him. While it stops her up short, he feels his body gravitating to pull her close, just to hold her, just for a moment, but he leaves his arms firmly at his sides as she takes a half-step back.

“How are you, Swan?” he asks her, and means it. He’s not had a chance to speak with her alone since this morning, and while she’s outwardly pushing through, he wants to know how she is internally.

“I’m… okay. I’m tired, Hook. Something else isn’t what I thought it was and I’ve had my heart broken once again.”

The words are out of his mouth before he can stop them. “Good. Don’t take this the wrong way but I’m glad to hear it.”

“You’re glad to hear I had my heart broken?”

“If it can be broken, it means it still works,” he says softly. He sways into her space again when he says it, and to his utter surprise, she sways right into his. And he thinks he’s looking at desire in her eyes, the return of his feelings for her, the return of her feelings for him that had spoken to him right before she left the bloody town a year ago, that one, solid word echoing through his memories as they stare at each other for the space of ten whole heartbeats.

Emma is the one to break eye contact, as she looks away first, then moves away from him.

“Goodnight, Killian,” she all but whispers before she reaches the door. He doesn’t turn to watch her go. Instead he collapses face first onto the bed, almost ripping his brace from his arm and dropping it to the floor. Thankfully, he’s too exhausted to go over every minute detail of the interaction in his mind. He’ll save that for the whole ride back to Storybrooke in the morning.

-x-

Emma decides somewhere between the door to Killian’s room and the door to the one she’s sharing with Henry that she needs to start an unhealthy tab of how many times she almost kisses Captain Hook. The first tally mark will be dark, to include the one time she _did_ kiss Captain Hook – kissed the crap outta him, actually.

Henry is still fast asleep on one of the beds where she left him, so she tiptoes around to find her pajamas in the mess that is now their suitcase before she heads to the bathroom to get ready for bed.

When she looks at herself in the mirror, she sees the look in her eyes that she knows means trouble. She is _attracted_ to him. She is attracted to him and she wants to _kiss him again_. Especially when he says things about how her heart must still work if it’s broken. And it _is_ , but she realizes that the whole day she was with him and Henry, she didn’t think of Walsh or the life she was living before Hook showed up _once_.

She collapses face first onto her own bed, wiggling under the covers and falling straight to sleep. Her dreams are plagued with possibilities and desires, but also nightmares that include what’s lurking around the corner from them. In her dreams, she can clearly see the animal that darted out in front of them. It’s some man-sized monkey with wings: a nightmare straight out of _The Wizard of Oz,_ which is just absurd.

By the time she wakes up, the clear picture of whatever it was is long gone, and she focuses instead on getting out of bed and getting ready for the day. They’ll have to return to the city, and they’ll have to figure out what to do with Hook – with _Killian_. He can’t go back to Neal’s apartment. She has money, but she can’t really afford to keep him up in a hotel or pay his rent for him.

_Shit._

She needs a shower, coffee, breakfast, and a plan.

The first three are easy, but the plan is slow coming. It’s not like they can talk about any of it in front of Henry, so instead she catches quick glimpses of the new outfit she selected for Killian last night and tries to keep up some semblance of conversation with them.

Mostly, Killian and Henry talk about the video games that Henry purchased the day before. It turns out that a “prince” that rides with pirates is something that Killian is very interested in, even if he’s never heard of _The Legend of Zelda_ before yesterday. At least they’re bonding, which means she has more time to work out some details on her own.

“So we’re headed back to the city?” Henry asks when they’re finishing breakfast.

Emma nods, looking to her side to see what expression is on Killian’s face, but he’s a blank slate this morning. Whatever she says, he’ll go with.

“Yeah, we are, kid. Maybe we looked at the wrong information before we left.”

“Or the information is outdated,” Killian offers.

“Yeah, but how do we update that information? It’s not like we can just Google it and add it into Wikipedia and it’ll appear.”

“Wiki-what?”

“Nothing. We’ll just go back to the city and… regroup. Or something. I don’t know, I’m still working on a plan.”

Henry’s eyes are bouncing between her and Killian the entire time they’re talking, his gaze scrutinizing and thoughtful, and she wonders what he’s seeing when he looks across the table at them. They sat next to each other by accident, mostly because Emma is so used to sitting across from Henry everywhere they go, and Killian probably preferred to sit next to her. So they’re next to each other, and Killian is one hundred percent focused on the words coming out of her mouth, because he’s one hundred percent focused on _her mouth._ And they’re speaking their own special adult language, and she’s just remembered to look at Henry and he’s _giving them this look._

She looks back at Killian, and he just raises one of those over-expressive eyebrows at her. She looks to Henry again, and he mimics the action. He’s spending too much time with Killian already, she’s sure of it.

Maybe, she thinks, just maybe they can play off that they’re dating. They’ve been super secretive about their past. Maybe it’s not so hard to paint Killian as a previous lover, an old flame that couldn’t be fulfilled at the time, and now is their chance.

Details can be figured out later. For now, she needs to get them back into a city.

There’s a hotel nearby that’s cheap enough, and once she drops Henry and his suitcase off at their apartment, she walks Killian there and gets him a room. He proudly uses the magnetic key card like he’s been doing it his whole life, and she can’t help but grin back at him as he smiles, dimples and all.

“I’m gonna order pizza once I get back to my place. You’re welcome to come over and eat some of it? We can get groceries tomorrow if you want stuff to keep here. They even have a little fridge and everything.”

“That sounds lovely, even though I’ve no bloody clue what pizza is.”

“Something you’ll be eating a lot of, depending on how long we’re stuck in New York.”

“Aye, I suppose you’re right. I’ll come by in a half hour or so once I’ve gotten everything settled here.”

“Okay,” Emma says, “and just call me if you need anything before then.” She scribbles her number down on the pad of paper on the nightstand, and adds the possibility of getting him a phone to the list she has in her head about finding him a job, and making up documents for him.

She leaves him with a nervous little wave, and walks out of the hotel into a chilly October evening. For the first block of the walk, she’s fine. It feels like any other night walking down the street she’s gotten to know over the last year of living here. But the closer she gets to her apartment, the more the sensation comes back that something is watching her.

It’s a little like her sensor for knowing when someone is lying to her, but more like an intense itch between her shoulder blades that she struggles to keep hidden. She pulls her jacket tighter around her shoulders and pushes forward, determined to just look like a cold individual, making the trek home.

The sensation gets worse the closer she gets to her apartment, and for the entire ride up the elevator, she’s almost shaking with worry about her son, and it takes even more control to keep her pace even and unhurried as she makes her way down the hallway. She’s relieved to find the door locked tight, like she always taught him to do after she left. She makes sure all the latches and locks are engaged again before turning and making her way into their living space.

Henry is waiting at the kitchen island with an expectant look on his face. “So, mom, how do you know Killian again?”

“We knew each other a while ago,” she answers, going straight for the drawer where they stash their take-out menus. “I’m going to unpack some of our stuff. Why don’t you order for all of us? Killian hasn’t spent a whole lot of time here, so he needs the real New York experience.” She hopes a task like this will distract Henry enough for him to drop the subject.

“I’m not going to drop this,” Henry says, dashing all her dreams while taking the menu for their pizza place in hand. He wanders over to the couch to consider his options while Emma drags the suitcase around the corner and into her bedroom. She’ll have to do laundry, she realizes, and she’ll have to add Killian’s clothes to theirs since he won’t know how to work a washing machine.

It would be easier if he just lived here with them, she’s sure.

And that’s the lightbulb that finally goes off. _That_ can be their dumb plan.

Henry already thinks there’s something between them, and they’re going to have to work closely together in order to figure out what to do. It’ll certainly save her bank account if she doesn’t have to foot the bill for a hotel room for him.

She eyeballs her bed, humming out loud at the prospect of two people sleeping in it. She can’t even remember Walsh spending the night over here more than twice, and only when Henry was over at a friend’s place for sleepovers and such.

It’s not a very good plan, but it’s more of one than when they woke up today.

“Hey mom, pizza is on the way! When will Killian be here?” He calls it all from the couch in typical-kid fashion, and Emma rolls her eyes as she heads back out to the living room to respond to him.

“He should be over soon. We’ll have to go over some details of his case tonight, so he might be here pretty late. Is that okay with you?”

Henry thinks about it for a minute, narrowing his eyes at her as he considers it. “Can I have an extra half hour to play video games before going to bed tonight?”

It’s a dirty negotiation tactic, but it’s not a school night and he _did_ just travel with them all the way to Middle-of-Nowhere, Maine without complaining once.

“Yes, but just for tonight. Tomorrow night is a school night.”

One exasperated sigh is the only grief he gives her before a victory smile lights up his face. “Fine,” he concedes, drawing the word out but grinning the whole time.

Emma makes sure to sit next to Killian at the dinner table, and both she and Henry enjoy watching Killian’s face as he devours his first slice of pizza.

“Better than bologna?” she asks, her smirk uncontrollable, as is the laugh that follows when he scowls at her around a mouthful of crust.

“It didn’t have to strive very hard to be more palatable than that blasted meat concoction. Although, nothing would. But it _is_ delicious.”

They wait until Henry is fully immersed in his games before they settle in at the table, a notepad in front of each of them, and Emma watches as the page Killian is using fill up with more of that loopy handwriting of his.

“I’ll need to get you a new passport and stuff,” she mumbles, jotting down all the things she’s been repeating since they left the hotel that morning. “And maybe a phone so you can call or text me even if you’re not with me.”

“What happened to your old phone?” Henry asks from the couch. She _knew_ it was better to not make bold statements while he was around, no matter how into his game he looks.

Killian looks to her, his eyes wide and questioning. He doesn’t even really know what a phone is, let alone what to say about where his fictional one went. “Never had one,” he says before Emma can concoct a lie.

Henry makes a noise of dismissal and goes quiet again, and she and Killian both slump a little in their chairs, relieved that they’re past one hurdle.

They use as much code as they can handle, but even her brain is starting to scramble by the time Henry goes to bed, so they take a break until they’re sure he’s asleep. She wants to tell him about that feeling on her walk back earlier, and how she was inexplicably terrified that something would happen to her son before she could get back to the apartment. She wants to tell him to move in, move in _tonight_ so she has the reassurance that even when she can’t be here, Henry will still be safe.

Instead, she pours them each a small amount of rum and clinks her glass against his as they rehash everything on the lists they’ve already made. She has a contact in Boston that can get her the appropriate documents. She has people around town to find Killian a job. They’ll need more than the week’s worth of clothing that they purchased on their way to Maine. And they’ll need to find a way to decide if Storybrooke is back at all, before finding a way back in.

By the time they finish their drinks, Emma is willing to speak a little more candidly, so she quietly explains that weird feeling of being watched on her way back.

“I experienced the same thing, Swan.”

“So something out there is watching us. Watching what we do, and where we go. I don’t like it.”

“Neither do I, but we continue to act as if we’re average people, aye?”

“Yeah, I guess.” She decides to wait on asking him to move in, as much as it pains her to do so. He’s just a couple blocks away, so she knows he could be here in the amount of time it would take him to run, if necessary. It’ll be fine. So when their glasses are empty a second time, she walks him to the door and wishes him goodnight before closing it and locking it up tight.

Her normal habits follow – the ones that settled into her bones from their year living seemingly peaceful lives. She feels better once she draws the blinds down for the night, even more so when she checks on Henry to see him sleeping, his DS still on and glowing softly to illuminate her son’s slack expression. She rolls her eyes with affection as she walks over to close it and place it on his night stand. She tucks his blankets around his shoulders and leaves the door cracked just an inch before retiring to her own bedroom.

The next couple days are much the same. Killian’s documents come in via express mail at the end of the week, which means they can finally get started finding him a job somewhere. He stares at the picture on his passport for a long time, his fingers gliding over the laminate with something almost like reverence.

Most of their time is spent bent over their notebooks, trying to think of anything they can think of. They think about all the possible entrances over the town line, but they’re pretty sure if they can’t access one, they wouldn’t be able to access any of the others.

“What about water?” she asks as they’re wrapping up one night.

“What about it?”

“Why don’t we get your ship, sail up there, and see if we can get in that way. You have a magical freaking boat. That has to count for something, right?”

He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, the first sign that something isn’t right that she’s seen in a while. “I didn’t bring it with me,” he says after a full minute of fidgeting.

It’s a half-lie. He’s not outright lying to her, but it’s damn close. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“Nothing, Swan.” The expression on his face freezes, and she knows she won’t get anything else from him on this matter, so she takes a deep breath and wracks her brain for more possibilities.

They both tense up at the same time, the eyes on them hovering just beyond the safety of her windows, and she can’t tell if either of them are breathing. Her hand is clenching her pen so hard she’s afraid she’ll snap it in half. When Killian slides his hand across the table and his fingers brush across hers, she does her best to relax a little. She sets the pen down, accepting his fingers interlacing with hers. It’s just a moment of comfort – that’s all.

He nods, giving her the smallest smile he can muster up, and she thinks she returns it, and they stay like that for the length of time until, just as suddenly as it appeared, the sensation goes away.

“I’m going to check on Henry,” Emma says quietly. Their grasp lingers until she’s standing, and she clears her throat as she awkwardly clutches her hand to her chest after she walks away.

The door is cracked the same amount it always is, and Henry is asleep in his bed. For once, the video games and books are all off and away, but she still goes in to pull the covers up and give him a kiss on the forehead. The blinds are drawn and the curtains are closed, and she makes a mental note to check all the locks on all the windows tomorrow. Not that human locks will stop anything magical, but checking seems responsible, at the very least.

Killian is returning to the table with two glasses when she comes back in the room. The bottle of rum is already waiting.

“Seemed like it might be calming after that,” he explains. It’s only once he says it that she realizes she hasn’t seen him drink since their first night back in the city. That’s not to say he isn’t when he goes back to his hotel room, but since he’s spending a majority of his time with her, or watching Henry when she’s out on a job, she’s pretty sure he’s using it for sleeping and showering only. Which brings her back to the idea of him living at her place.

She pauses, knowing now is the time to ask him about moving in, but still wanting to prolong the moment. “What, uh. What do you think about moving in here? Pretending we’re a couple. I think Henry already thinks we’re seeing each other and whatever. I don’t think it would be much of a stretch to convince him that there’s something going on and we’re closer than we’re letting on.”

He takes a moment to pour himself a finger of rum and drink it down in one swallow before attempting to answer, but she can see it’s still a struggle. “I don’t know if that’s wise, Swan.” He pours another for himself and one for her, sliding her glass across the table to her waiting hand.

“Oh, come on. We are adults. I’m going to have to teach you how to function in New York, which will be easier if you’re in the same room as me. And it’ll save money if you’re not living in a hotel.”

“I’ll pay for it. Just as soon as I have employment.”

“Killian, it’ll be a while before you can afford to keep yourself in that place.”

With agitation guiding his moves, Killian stands from the table and paces the length of the breakfast bar.

“What will Henry think of a new man sharing your bed so soon after your previous relationship?”

“As long as I’m happy, I don’t think he’ll care.”

“And how do you feel about lying to him about all this? We’ve been so careful to not lie to him in the duration since you got your memories back, Swan.” He stops pacing and looks at her, and she feels the stab of guilt go through her at that. She hates lying to Henry about anything, but there’s no way to bring back his own memories, and while he’s pretty easy-going for an eleven-year-old, he might not buy all this. Plus, the less he knows right now, the better.

She stands and moves to him, making sure to maintain eye contact with him the whole time she speaks. “If and when Henry gets his memories back, he will understand that I – that _we_ did everything in our power to protect him from whatever the hell is out there. Killian, something was just watching us through the windows of my third-floor apartment.”

“And what about physical contact, Swan? We’ll need to show each other affection from time to time so he believes we are courting. We’ll need to,” and here he shifts from foot to foot, swallowing hard before he says it, “share a bed.”

“It’s a big bed. I think we’ll manage. And affection is fine, spaced out. Pretty sure he wouldn’t appreciate us tongue kissing in front of him anyways.” The second she says it, she vividly remembers Neverland all over again – the anxious push and pull dance they engaged in for way too short of a time. The way his body felt against hers. The way he kissed her back with as much fervor as she gave.

She blinks a few times, idly wondering if that’s the reason for Killian’s faraway look, or if he’s just considering the offer.

“There’s something else. When I was walking home from the hotel that first night back, I could feel whatever it was watching me. And while I left Henry alone for brief periods of time before, I have never felt so uneasy about it than I did that night. I can’t really explain it,” she says, her hand automatically hovering above her breastbone as if she could clutch at that feeling, find the proper words, calm her heart all over again. “I can’t, but I flew down the hall preparing for a battle.”

He looks progressively more worried as she talks, and she can see the gears shifting in his mind. Sheesh, she thought this would be just a _little_ easier. “Just sleep on it, okay?”

“Aye, Swan, I will.” He lingers after the words, looking like he has more to say, but inevitably just shaking his head and returning to the table.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep. That's right. It's grown. And it should end at three parts. Should being the key word....

He told her he’d sleep on it, but the truth is that he immediately starts considering all the options before he even returns to the table. His mind is a conundrum of possibilities and options, complications, scenarios, _hopes_ …

But Killian cannot hope that the same things he wants are what Emma Swan wants, so he has to think carefully on the matter. Sure, their safety is a priority, but so is the matter of his heart, and he’s not entirely sure he can handle the idea of being Emma’s fake lover. Plus, the whole matter feels like much more than the white lies and omissions that they’ve been handing Henry since this whole adventure began.

Then again, when he thinks about the way their privacy was interrupted from this high up, his skin starts to crawl.

He stays while Emma cleans up the kitchen, and while she checks in on Henry again. When he hears her voice mingling with Henry’s, he decides it’s best not to eavesdrop on their moment. Instead, he idly stands by the windows, looking out each one to see if there’s a possible place someone might’ve been spying on them. But the windows that look in on the corner apartment are all occupied by residences.

While some are dark this late at night, he can still make out the draperies that cover the windows, the occasional glow of lamps illuminating the last ones awake. From one or two he can see the people moving inside, but there’s no one looking back, and even if they were he doubts they would prickle his and Emma’s senses as harshly.

No, everything that surrounds them feels too far away to have caused such a stir, but there aren’t a lot of alternatives left that don’t include some form of magic, and that possibility is what’s tipping him to the idea that he will accept Emma’s offer to move into this dwelling.

He split from the royals almost as soon as they got back to the Enchanted Forest. Whatever they may have encountered may not know who he is, which will work in their favor for this plan to work. He settles back on the couch to wait for Emma’s return, having tucked his notes away in anticipation for the end of their evening.

Killian gets stuck on the concept of pretending courtship, once more. The physical aspects of his and Emma’s relationship up to this moment in time are mostly comprised of accidental touches that meant little more than nothing, and a searing kiss in Neverland that had him dazed and aroused for hours after. There’s also the obvious fact that he attempted a True Love’s Kiss on Emma Swan when she opened her door that first morning. How absurd he must’ve looked, how ridiculous he _felt_ when it failed.

His heart lurches at the memory, and the quiet scoff he gives himself is more pain than derision. Or maybe it’s a terrifying combination of both.

From that line of thought, it dawns on Killian that while Emma is under the impression that they can properly come off as a couple keeping company, he’s under no delusions that the terms will be anything other than farce for Emma. Perhaps it will be easy, once they’ve slipped into their roles, to feel nothing when their hands touch, or to rest his head on the pillow next to hers. But his heart thumps uncontrollably at the thought of either, and what the actions won’t mean to her, and he wonders about perhaps informing her of the reality.

What if she draws back, though? What if telling her ruins the whole thing, and they can’t act believably? What if whatever is watching them is able to sense the hesitation before their simple acts of affection and their safety is compromised? The possibilities all start piling in his mind and he can feel a headache starting just behind his eyes.

He must tell her. It would be against his gentleman nature to withhold such information, especially if kisses and hugs are going to be part of their regular behavior from this point forward. Perhaps it will help remind her that there’s a side concern to this, other than their safety, and that’s the preservation of his heart.

At the sound of Emma’s approaching footsteps, he clears the glaze from his eyes and schools his face to something more involved, something less faraway, something like neutrality, but it’s a hard process to chase away the thoughts that are already infesting his mind.

She’s smiling when she comes back out, and she tucks herself into the other end of the couch, one of her legs folded under her and a relaxed set to her shoulders.

“Everything all right, love?”

“Yeah, he just woke up. Asked if I would make pancakes tomorrow for breakfast.” The smile widens on her face, and she glances at Killian once before looking back at the windows. “I also told him you were staying tonight. That it’s too late and I don’t want you walking home at this hour.” He opens his mouth to respond but she holds up a hand to stop him. “Relax, you can stay on the couch. I wasn’t lying. I don’t want you walking back to the hotel this late with whatever is out there.”

“Swan, before I accept, in the interests of good form, you should know – I won’t be feigning my feelings for you.”

Suddenly the smile she had on her face before is slipping away, nearly transforming into a grimace instead. “I… I know, I just,” she shifts her gaze, looking down to where her fingers play with the hem of her sweater instead of at him. “Look, can we maybe not talk about it?”

“I understand your discomfort, but it needs saying,” he says gently. He’s almost irritated that he has to fight with her to let him say what he’s been reluctant to say anyway, and keeping it to himself in the first place _almost_ looks like it would’ve been the better choice, especially when she gets up from the couch and starts closing the apartment windows off from the rest of the world. She won’t look at him, which makes gauging her reactions that much more difficult.

“I will endeavor to make this as easy as possible for you, and I won’t assume that your displays of affection mean anything. I just…” He flounders a bit, unsure of how to articulate how this situation is making him feel. “You need to know, I suppose.”

She sighs as she shuffles from foot to foot. “Yeah, I know.” Her hands get shoved into her pockets: all her defensive stance marks active at the moment, including the way she looks to a spot on the couch roughly six inches from his face instead of meeting his eyes. “I mean, I figured you weren’t pretending to try True Love’s Kiss.”

His face heats up at her words, so close to his earlier thoughts on the matter, and his throat suddenly feels dry as weathered bone. “Aye, well, as I said…”

She nods, then, finally looking at him and giving him a faint but reassuring smile.

“No matter what,” he says, finally finding his voice, “I’ve no intentions of walking away from you or Henry.”

“Killian,” she starts, but stops and swallows instead, averting her eyes momentarily to regain her balance. “Thanks. And I think we can do this. It’s just a matter of,” she pauses and motions with her hands, first vaguely and in front of her, and then to indicate the two of them together. He gets it. It’s a matter of finding a rhythm together.

“Well, we can practice, if you’d like?” He needs to settle into the idea of touching her without it setting his heartbeat racing, and he’d prefer to do it while they’re alone instead of embarrassing himself in front of Henry.

“So, what, you wanna see what’s on Netflix and practice cuddling?”

“I have no idea what that is,” Killian states, unable to help the grin tugging his lips upward, “but sure!”

She snorts, shaking her head in mirth but still scooting onto the cushion to sit close to him. “How about we start here?” she asks, taking his hand and interlocking their fingers.

It’s a surprisingly chaste feeling, holding Emma’s hand. Perhaps the idea that it’s all pretend is keeping his emotions at bay, but he knows that holding hands and sleeping in the same bed are entirely different scenarios and while this feels okay, that might be a little more to handle. But this is easy, this is her palm warm against his, her soft skin under his fingertips. This is nice.

Instead of whatever “Netflix” is, Emma flips through the channels of the television, trying to give him basic explanations on the mechanics and the programs. She settles on what she calls a “late” show, chuckling along with the jokes that Killian doesn’t understand.

He watches her. He watches the smile that appears briefly between each section of the show, watches as her shoulders relax and her eyes get heavy, and holds his breath and focuses back on the television as her head falls to his shoulder. He waits until the end of the program before he wakes her again, jostling her lightly using the hand that’s still holding his.

“Wake up, love,” he says quietly, nudging the top of her head with his nose. “Off to bed with you."

She hums, mumbling about getting up before she sits up and stretches, and he only notices that his hand is overly warm when her hand untangles from his. “I think I have a pair of pajamas you might fit in,” she says as she stands, and he watches as she wanders away to her room for a few minutes.

By the time she’s returned, he’s drawn down the rest of the blinds in the living room like he’s seen her do several times over the last week. She has a bundle of linens in her arms, as well as a pillow and the promised sleepwear. She’s in her own pajamas, the flannel hanging just a little too big from her frame, which is probably why she was able to dress him for the evening.

“Go ahead and change, and I’ll get the couch made up for you. First door to the left.”

He considers arguing that he can do it himself, but before he even makes it out of the room, she has a sheet draped over the brown leather. By the time he returns with his clothes folded and propped on his artificial hand, she has the sheet tucked around so it won’t slide or fall, and a blanket spread over that. A pillow sits at the head of the couch, and the whole picture looks so comfortable and inviting that he sincerely looks forward to stretching out on it.

When she finishes fluffing the pillow one last time, she moves to stand just in front of him. “If you need anything, you know where I am.”

“Of course. Goodnight, Swan."

“Goodnight,” she says quietly, leaning in to give him a brief hug before wandering down the hall to her room.

He thinks he falls asleep quickly, but it’s the kind of sleep that happens so fast that he’s not sure he’s slept at all when it’s over. There’s light shining through the blinds when he’s woken by Henry’s voice nearby.

“What happened to your hand?”

“Bloody hell, lad. There are better ways to wake a man than suddenly speaking in his ear.”

“Sorry. So what happened to it?”

It takes him a minute to get his bearings, to open his eyes and see Henry on the other couch, and realize the fake hand is on the table in front of him. It’s much easier to get comfortable without the appendage when he’s attempting to sleep, and he took it off without a second thought the night before, but perhaps seeing it there has left Henry with a thirst for knowledge. He’s made it a whole week without asking, which has been rather pleasant. Well, _had_ been until this morning.

“Crocodile ate it,” Killian grunts out as he sits up and stretches his arms high above his head.

“Henry, I told you to let him sleep!” She’s just appearing through the doorway when he turns his head to look at her, and she looks much like she did that first morning he appeared in New York.

Her hair is sleep mussed but gorgeous, her face free of the makeup he knows she likes to paint on to get ready for her days. Her sleep clothes are slightly wrinkled and her eyes are barely awake but she looks as stunningly gorgeous like this as she did wearing that black dress for her dinner with Walsh. His thoughts must show on his face, because she slows her entrance a little, fighting a smile and a blush as she tells him good morning.

“Captain Hook?” the boy asks, despite his mother grumbling from the doorway.

Emma’s eyes go wide, and he knows his do, too.

“Henry, do you remember?” she asks. But looking back to the boy, he gives blank stares to both his mother and the actual Captain Hook on his couch. He turns his attentions back to Henry as Emma shifts away from the doorway and to the kitchen.

“Tell me more about this crocodile thing.”

The tension and excitement immediately leaves his body, as it’s certain that Henry doesn’t suddenly remember him, remember his life in Storybrooke, remember who _actually_ took his hand away from him.

“Henry, he wasn’t being serious.”

“A very horrible man once decided I needed to lose it, so he cut it off,” Killian decides to tell him. His reasons are twofold: one, it’ll help keep the lies to a minimum, and two, it’ll feed the boy’s curiosity for a bit.

“How did you not _die_?” He’s scooched to the edge of the cushion he’s perched on, chin in his hands as he stares at Killian with zoned in focus.

“If there’s one thing I’m good at, lad, it’s surviving.” He does his best to reign in his grin when Emma makes a noise from the kitchen.

He shuffles off to the bathroom after meeting Henry’s storytelling expectations. He redresses in the clothes he wore the day before, doing up the buttons with more ease than when they originally bought the garments. When he returns, Emma has a plate for him set next to Henry and she’s sliding an equal number of pancakes onto each of their plates.

“Anything I can assist with, love?"

“Grab the juice out of the fridge for me, please? There’s coffee here, too. Wasn’t sure if you wanted any.”

“Always hated the stuff back in... back home,” he catches himself, winking at Emma as he tugs open the door to the refrigerator and pulling out the container she’s pointed out before. “But I’ve found it makes mornings much easier. Certainly better than rum, I’d wager.”

“I’ll say,” Emma mutters. She’s moved on to cooking up a batch of bacon, and he moves to her side after placing the juice in front of their plates to observe. He’s taken to standing nearby in order to watch how foods are prepared here. “You wanna try?” she asks when she notices him standing close.

“Not this time, love. Next time?”

She gives him a small, encouraging smile, nodding in agreement that he’ll attempt to use the stove soon. He returns the look, and they stand like that with the bacon popping lightly in the pan until Henry makes a noise behind them. They both jolt, and he laughs quietly as he gestures to the pan for her to continue.

As soon as all the food is piled on Henry’s plate, he’s digging in, eating at a speed that only young boys can maintain as they’re growing before he’s sprinting back towards his bedroom to get ready for school.

“When he gets home, we can talk to him about the living situation,” Emma says as she cuts away at a pancake and eats at a more reasonable pace. Killian just nods in agreement and understanding, just happy to discover that he rather enjoys the pancakes that Emma makes over the ones they’ve had at diners and restaurants.

“These are delicious,” he says after swallowing a mouthful.

“They’re Bisquick. Pretty sure the ones at Granny’s are way better.”

“I’ll try them once we do get back, but I still vote yours as the best.”

“ _If_ we get back.”

“ _When_ we get back,” he counters, raising an eyebrow and giving her a look that dares her to argue the point. She doesn’t. Just smirks and continues to eat her breakfast.

Henry is back in a flash, kissing his mother on the cheek before zipping to the door.

“Be good for Mrs. Q!” Emma calls out to him as he calls out his last goodbyes.

With the apartment silent again, he tries to acclimate to the idea of living here with Emma and Henry. He imagines that it’ll be slightly different when he’s not laid out on the couch, when he won’t be in Henry’s morning path. He readily offers to help clean up, and they work together to clean the kitchen and put the couch back in order.

“So about finding a job,” Emma says when she comes back from putting away the linens and getting herself changed. “What do you want to do?”

“I’ve not thought of many answers to that question,” he admits. And it’s definitely true. He spent hours one night just listing possible occupations he could try, but without being familiar with technology, he’s at a bit of a loss.

“We’ll figure something out,” she reassures him.

They spend the time that Henry’s in school at the library, searching the stacks for a clue or a miracle. Out of frustration or boredom, they leave right around lunchtime, and Emma decides hands-on experience with the city is necessary. She also tells him about Halloween, a kind of holiday they celebrate that will allow him to dress as himself for a night with no one looking at him askance.

All of the information swirls in his head and he tries to commit it all to memory before it can dissipate. At the same time, he finds himself adjusting to the heavy amounts of traffic, both on the sidewalks and on the roads. The time spent back in the Enchanted Forest may have seemed unbearably quiet at the time, but being here with all these people, instead of readjusting to life in Storybrooke, almost makes him miss the silence again.

Telling Henry about the impending new housemate is almost easy. He spends the rest of the evening giving Killian that weighing look, like he did the day they left for Maine, but he softens up when Killian is the one to slide a perfectly cooked grilled cheese sandwich onto his plate for dinner, while Emma explains the various reasons that led to their decision.

While he’s still a young lad, the idea that Killian has no job, and thus no money, helps him see the wisdom of the choice.

“Plus, you don’t have to spend the afternoons at Mrs. Q’s place when I’m out on jobs. At least until he gets a job,” Emma points out, and that is what finally seals the deal.

“You’ll teach me how to play those games of yours, then?”

Henry waits until Emma is preoccupied and stage-whispers to Killian, “Only if you let me have all the sugary sodas I can drink until she gets home.”

“Hey! I don’t think so, kid. Killian eats healthier than anyone else in this place. You’ll be lucky if he doesn’t pour all the soda down the drain the second he gets a chance.”

The banter the rest of the night is easy, and to his immense pleasure and surprise, he fits right in with it. He throws out a few lines of his owns, earning snorting chuckles from Henry and wide grins from Emma. He feels, more than ever, that this was some place he was destined to end up, and he walks back to the hotel that night with a smile on his face. The things lurking in the dark must sense his fantastic mood, because they stay away for once, and his walk is downright jovial.

It takes a few days for him to form the idea of working on the boats in the harbor. Excited about the prospect, he makes his way down there while Emma is working and Henry is at school. He’ll be moving into Emma and Henry’s apartment the next day, so this final move of independence is welcome.

Thinking up the idea and implementing it turn out to be two entirely different things, however. Firstly, there are the looks that the men in the surrounding area give to him when it becomes clear he only has one hand. One outright sneers at him, and the dark cloud that comes over Killian’s face must give away a hint of his past, because the man quickly finds business elsewhere.

After walking in and out of several places of employment, he gives up. The other half of the problem is not how the men and women who looked upon him today viewed his disability. He knows he can do more work with one hand than any number of them combined. He knows he has the strength to lift barrels of rum, and work the ropes like any other crew member.

He didn’t become Captain of the best ship in the realm on accident, he did it with bloody hard work, and _none_ of them can convince him otherwise.

But no, that’s not all there is to it, he thinks as he slumps onto a bench in the park he’s grown fond of in the last couple weeks. It’s also the boats themselves. Give him a pirate ship, a mast and sails, give him rigging and crow’s nests and old, weathered wood and he will be captain again – the thought alone of ships and captains and being at the helm burns in the center of his chest and he hastily moves along in his thoughts – but the things that they call ships, the ones with the shiny exteriors and the modern materials, are all as magic to him as Neverland was to Emma. Not only does he not know how they work, he wouldn’t even begin to know the dichotomy between the Jolly Roger and the _Sloop Doggy Dog,_ whatever the bloody hell that means.

His determination to find work that suits him and his previous life is calling too clearly, so he goes back to wandering the streets. He still has a few hours until he’s to meet up with Emma, but he doesn’t want to head back to the hotel just yet.

The storefront he passes is so dark that he almost walks right by, but he stops and backtracks, peering into the cluttered front window to see the stacks and shelves beyond. The sign indicates that the shop is open, so Killian pulls the door handle to the light chiming of bells and wanders inside. There’s no better way to learn than to read, in Killian’s opinion, and what better place to do that than a book store?

-x-

Killian only has a suitcase to bring with him, but Emma still bundles Henry into the car and drives the two blocks to the hotel on the morning they set aside to move him. Henry spends the whole commute talking about trick-or-treating on Wednesday, but Emma’s thoughts are geared toward the real monsters that might be lurking out there.

She knocks on the door, but uses her spare key to swipe them in. Killian is sitting in the armchair in the corner, sliding up the zippers on his boots.

“Good morning,” he says, smiling as he looks up at them and stands. He’s grinning a little harder than usual, which makes Emma a little suspicious, but she’s too distracted by the dimples that appear when he smiles that wide to give it much thought.

“Morning, Killian,” Henry greets, flopping onto the half-made bed. She knows he stayed up way too late last night, so she’s not surprised to see him trying to keep his eyes open.

“I don’t have much left, but I wanted to ensure my garments were dry before folding them up with the rest.”

She’s distracted by Henry losing the battle with his eyelids, zonking out completely before they’ve even been here a full minute. She wanders over and pulls his shoes off his feet and shifts him so his legs are fully on, before she registers exactly what he’s said. “Dry?”

“Aye, I inquired about laundry services from the woman behind the desk downstairs. She gave me some detergent for free and explained how to hand wash items like my boxers and socks. I did shirts the other day. Learned how to use the iron and everything, Swan!”

Emma blinks a couple times, stunned by the number of things Killian has taken the initiative to learn in such a short period of time. She peers into the bathroom that she passed on the way in and sees the aforementioned items hanging over the shower rod.

Not only that but he also _irons_? _She_ doesn’t even iron. She doesn’t know whether she’s impressed or proud or annoyed, but there’s definitely a combination of all three battling it out. It’s not that she wanted him to be entirely reliant on her forever, but there was just this little inkling of an idea, that she would get to metaphorically take him by the hand and lead him through the journey of laundry when he moved in. Now, it’s already half done, and he’s been doing it by hand (and hand alone) for what seems like a couple days.

“I also found employment for myself,” he tells her, much closer than he was before so all she has to do is turn her head slightly to the side to give him an even more gaping look than she already had.

“Killian, that’s great! Where at?”

“There’s this little bookstore I found yesterday,” he starts, and while her amazement slowly morphs into a proud form of acceptance, he tells her about the docks, and the dirty looks, and the store he wandered into to learn about the world he’s currently living in. “I’ll just be helping move stock for now. The owner – she’s quite old, and between her and her husband, they need the extra muscle to help out.”

The smile that curls up Emma’s lips causes his beaming one to shine even more radiantly, and they work together to pull down the dry articles of clothing. He carefully matches his socks and she watches as he rolls them his own way, mimicking his method on a couple other pairs so it’s to his specifications. Through all of it, she can’t ignore the fact that she wants to kiss him, which is absurd, because it’s just laundry.

(Except it’s not just laundry, and she knows it, but she ignores the part of her mind that starts humming things like ‘hope’ and ‘wish’ and ‘possibility’ in favor of gripping at denial.)

She sends Killian and Henry to the car when they’ve cleared the room several times over, just to be safe, and she stops by the desk to turn in the keys and settle the bill. The total isn’t quite as bad as she was expecting, but she’s glad they came to this decision, and so is her bank account.

“Emma?”

She startles at the sound of Walsh’s voice, half-convinced that she had forgotten what he sounds like in the time since the phone call that ended their relationship.

“Walsh, hi. What are you doing here?”

“Meeting a client. What are _you_ doing here?” He doesn’t look upset, he looks baffled and pleased, but Emma senses the lie, and notices that the emotions never fully reach his eyes. The sensation starts crawling up her back a half-second later, and she forces a genial smile where she wants to scowl.

“Just finishing some business,” she says, hoping the vague answer will be enough. It’s not, of course.

“Not moving the new boyfriend in already, are you?” Emma says nothing in response, her face reading something along the lines of incredulous that he would be so forward with the question. “Ah, you are. Well, now I see why you couldn’t marry me if you were already pining after some pirate wannabe.”

“This wasn’t – you know what? Never mind. I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

It takes a lot of effort not to punch him in the stomach, but Emma does flip him off before snatching her receipt off the desk and walking out of the hotel without looking back. When the itch starts between her shoulders, she’s not even surprised. While she may not know what Walsh’s connection to everything is, she knows that he _is_ involved in all of this. Relief replaces her agitation as soon as she gets in the car, looking once at her beautiful son and once at her fake-boyfriend and feeling like she’s at least partially where she belongs.

The day they all spend together is surprisingly domestic. Henry teaches Killian how to turn on the electronics almost as soon as they’re done loading his minimal clothing and personal items into her bedroom. His little section of the closet will definitely need expanded, but he reassures her as she hangs the last shirt that he’s more than happy with what he already has.

It’s not until that night that the nerves set in, something like butterflies erupting into flight all at once (if butterflies had ten-foot wingspans, that is). She wanders into her bedroom to get ready for bed after Henry is tucked in, and it’s only when she opens the drawer where she keeps her pajamas does she realize that the second half of the drawer is taken up by Killian’s sleepwear. Suddenly, the thought of him coming in here to change is downright terrifying. Not only that, but when they’re ready to sleep tonight, he won’t camp out on the couch or walk back to the hotel. He’s going to _climb into bed with her._

Running her hands over her face, she gathers her clothes and heads to the bathroom to change, flipping the lock just in case Killian misses every single cue and still walks in. But surprisingly, he’s not in the bedroom when she walks out in her just-perfectly-oversized flannel pjs. He’s not in the living room, either, so she follows a hunch and grabs her keys and shoves her feet into a pair of slippers and heads to the rooftop patio.

Killian is standing by the low brick wall that surrounds the space, and she walks over and stands close, letting the city noises act as their crickets as their breath fogs in front of them. She’s not there for more than a minute before Killian shrugs out of his jacket and drapes it around her shoulders. She didn’t even realize she was cold until she’s surrounded in his warmth, and she glances at him to thank him, but stops when she sees him looking at her with that soft, affectionate look.

“This is scary,” Emma says, instead.

“Aye,” is his only response. She’d love to know what he’s thinking, but whatever thoughts he has, he isn’t interested in sharing, looking back to the city around them when she tries to hold his gaze.

When it becomes apparent that they’re being watched again, Emma slides under his arm when he moves to accommodate her. She looks at him to say something else, but her words are quickly silenced when he drops a quick, casual kiss to her lips before he starts talking about what they need to do the following day.

“Ready to head back inside, love? I don’t want you to catch a chill out here.” His knowing smile speaks volumes, not only about what they’re acting for, but also at the fact that she’s been rendered silent by the kiss.

She nods in response, winding her arm around his back as they head for the door. Her thoughts run away with her as they get back in the apartment. Killian takes the keys from her and lets them in, pausing inside to lock up again while she goes to hang his jacket in the closet. It looks good amongst her own leather – looks like it fits with their life – and Emma relaxes into the smile that brings to her face.

The lights are all flipped off as they head for the bedroom, and Killian even pauses with her as she checks on Henry one last time. She leaves his door open a crack, but closes the door behind Killian once they’re both in the bedroom. With her nighttime routine already completed, she climbs into one side of her bed, setting the alarm for late morning so they can take Henry to get one last piece of his Indiana Jones costume and another bag of candy.

She pulls out the list she’s been steadily working down as far as life with Killian goes, crossing off the moving and the employment. He’s still in need of clothes, but he’ll be the most authentic-looking pirate for Halloween, at the very least. They’ve surpassed the things that can easily be checked off, left only with the magical aspects of their list at this point. Which feels good, but how the hell are they supposed to figure out the magic stuff when they don’t even know where to begin?

“How’s the list coming along?” Killian asks, and she’s surprised to see him settle onto the other side of the bed. She was so lost in her own thoughts that she missed him going through his own system for getting ready to sleep.

Her eyes glance upon his empty wrist, noting it as the first time she’s seen him without the brace but she doesn’t linger. Instead, she’s drawn to his eyes without the addition of black lining underneath. He’s focused on the list in her lap, but she can’t stop fixating on his face. He’s fully clothed – _they’re_ fully clothed – but for some reason she feels like she’s seeing him entirely bared. The thought alone makes her blush, and she works to redirect her attention back to what they’re supposed to be talking about.

Apparently, she doesn’t do too good of a job, or she’s more tired than she thought, because her eyes quickly slide from the list back to his face, and she watches as the corner of Killian’s mouth quirks up. “You’re staring, love.”

“Yeah, sorry, I know. Sorry.” She clears her throat and looks back to her writing, watching the words jumble together in front of her before giving up. “We’ll work on what comes next tomorrow.” The notebook gets stashed away in her nightstand, and they both burrow down into the covers, trying to get comfortable without touching each other.

It’s only once they’re both flat on their backs that any kind of thought occurs to her how weird this all is. This is her, sharing a bed with Captain Hook so her son doesn’t realize that they’re fairytale characters trying to avoid whatever enemy is out there. And she knows that all it would take is a word and Killian would go sleep on the couch, but Henry would definitely question the validity of their claims if they couldn’t even sleep in the same bed.

Despite the full armor of flannel she’s wearing, she still feels naked beneath the blankets, and she wonders if he feels the same from the way he’s subtly fidgeting. She’s not sure at what point she falls asleep, only that she’s hyper aware of someone sharing the bed with her until she’s not, and then the alarm is waking her up.

The spot next to her is empty, and she reaches out a hand to feel that the sheets are just this side of cool. When she gets to the kitchen, she can see why. Killian has a pot of coffee brewed already, and he’s carefully mixing the batter for pancakes.

If he’s surprised to see her awake, he doesn’t show it, instead offering her a smile as he wishes her good morning before going right back to his task. He’s already dressed, his eyes re-lined, and his brace and fake hand in place. After pouring herself a cup of coffee, she settles in at the island to watch him work, enjoying the relief from breakfast duty.

By the time Henry wanders out of his room, stifling a yawn and rubbing his eyes, there’s a stack of perfect pancakes waiting for him. His eyes widen at the uniform circles, and she watches the smile stretch when Killian places a mug of hot cocoa down in front of him, whipped cream and cinnamon already in place.

“Yeah, okay, you can keep him,” Henry says to Emma as he grabs his fork and starts digging into the food. Killian beams proudly at her at the statement, turning back to make his own breakfast after checking to make sure she has enough.

Breakfast becomes one of her favorite meals after Killian moves in. She only ever perfected pancakes and scrambled eggs, but it turns out that he’s rather willing to learn and change the lineup so that’s not all they’re ever eating.

On Halloween, less than a week after Killian moves in, he becomes the talk of the apartment building with his eerily authentic pirate costume. She’s tempted to tell him to wear the hook just so the kids will have something else to talk about, but with eyes still watching them, she decides the risk is too high.

If it weren’t already obvious that Walsh was keeping an eye on her, it would be after the fourth time they run into him in a two-week period. Killian is with her for three of those, and he manages to play it off as the standard boyfriend-meeting-the-ex scenario.

After the talk they had when she asked him to move in, Emma figured that Killian would have a hard time melting into the role without being able to separate his own feelings, that her own would start peeking through the longer she spent with him, but all of her expectations are surpassed. It turns out Killian is pretty naturally affectionate, which means small gestures are built into almost everything they do after they adjust to the idea.

He holds her hand as they walk to dinner, or tucks her hand into the crook of his arm when she’s on his left. She easily kisses his cheek in the morning when he’s getting ready to head to the bookstore. They have dedicated date nights when Henry goes over to a friend’s place, even if all they really do is talk about magic and Walsh’s involvement in the fact that someone always seems to be following them. More often than those topics, _because of_ being followed, they spend a lot of time talking about the movies that Killian is slowly working his way through, and his detailed thoughts of each one. They talk about the conferences with Henry’s teachers coming up and she teaches him about Thanksgiving as they get closer to the holiday. It all becomes so… normal.

Except for sleeping. Sleeping in a bed with Killian never really gets normal. Because while they manage to go whole nights where they don’t touch, there are the other nights where she rolls into him and wraps her arm around his waist while she’s sleeping. There are the nights where he entwines their fingers and she wakes up with disappointment that she has to pull away.

And of course, that’s the simple stuff. There’s also the amount of times she wakes up to one breast exposed when she sleeps in tank tops. There are the numerous times she’s caught glimpses of tented blankets from Killian’s morning wood. There are the times one of them slides a hand inside the other’s clothes in an attempt to seek out warmth which is _fine_ , they’re supposed to be _dating_ but she’s finding it hard not to slide her hand down the waistband of his sweats more often than not.

It’s as November is coming to a close that she starts to wonder if their relationship status is still considered fake if he loves her and she loves him, even if she hasn’t admitted it out loud (even to herself) yet.

-x-

Thanksgiving is likely one of the best things Killian has ever discovered in his life. In a conversation leading up to the holiday, Emma let slip that the parade route is in this very city, and Killian demands that they go and see it in person instead of watching it on the television.

“If you’re telling me that these giant, magical floating creatures are going to be within a distance we can travel, why would you ever just want to watch on a moving picture box.”

“But there are _so_ many people, Killian. It’s almost impossible to get close enough to watch if you’re not there like, Wednesday night.”

“No, Wednesday night is when you can go and see the balloons inflated, Swan. Which we will also be doing.”

There’s a loud sound of exasperation just over his shoulder as Killian types away at the computer. He’s getting better at it, but still takes his time. Henry has asked if he’s a hundred years old with the speed he types, and Killian and Emma both had to stifle their humor at the question. She’s hovering just behind him now, though, her hand resting on his shoulder while he scrolls through the search results and finds a blog about watching the parade.

“There, see? We can watch them inflate the beastly things on Wednesday, wake up early and watch the parade, and then come back and prepare dinner for the three of us.”

She makes a slightly less agitated noise, and Killian turns his head to see the expression on her face is thoughtful and even a little warm. “I kinda like the sound of that,” she says, her smile small and perfect. She squeezes his shoulder once and moves to the couch with a pad of paper and pen, calling him over to help make a list of what they’ll make for dinner that day.

When Henry gets home from school, Emma enlists his help for the menu, reminding him that the next day he’ll have to spend a few hours with the neighbor, who he only knows as Mrs. Q, since she’ll be working on a lead and Killian will be at the bookstore. While he grumbles, as he tends to do at his age from what Killian has learned, he ceases immediately when Emma fills him in on the plan for the day before and the day of Thanksgiving.

They spend a little over an hour watching the balloons get inflated when the day arrives, wandering amongst the throngs of people that have come out in the rain to do the same as them. While Emma certainly warned him about the number of people they would encounter, he’s still not quite prepared for the claustrophobic sensation that settles in his chest when the crowd all surges in one direction. Luckily, Emma has a hold on his hand, and she tugs him out of the way of an oncoming group of chattering women. If anything, it’s at least a learning experience for what the next day will be like.

Settling back in that night, they all huddle under blankets in the living room, mugs of hot cocoa in various states of finish on the coffee table in front of them. Henry has stretched himself across the whole length of the couch against the wall, his growth staggering and getting more noticeable, to the point where Killian is sure the next time he grows he will surpass his mother’s height. Emma is sitting at the far end of the couch with her feet propped in Killian’s lap. Her boots, while always attractive and by her claims comfortable, never seem to do the right job of warming her toes. Killian has tasked himself with rubbing the circulation back into them, laughing off her claims that a little role reversal won’t kill him.

“My feet may be a little chilled in the morning, love, but it’s only because you steal all the bloody covers during the night,” Killian admonishes. Henry sits up quickly, pointing at his mother as his face lights up.

“I _told_ you! Mom always claims she isn’t a blanket hog.”

“I’m the one in charge of the mashed potatoes tomorrow. Don’t you both gang up on me.” She nudges one foot against Killian’s thigh in warning, but the look on her face gives her away.

There’s a peace surrounding the whole situation, and it occurs to Killian that if they were in Storybrooke, nothing about the situation would be even remotely likely. It’s almost enough to dip his spirits, but then Emma is wiggling her toes again to bring his attention back to them and the easy smile on her face makes him forget that this is all just an act. He almost jumps when the foot that he’s not focused on brushes across the front zipper of his trousers. He counts it as an accident, until she does it again, slower, and he closes his eyes as a shiver runs down his spine.

When he opens his eyes and looks at her, she has her head tilted back, her eyes unfocused, but she must realize what she’s done because she suddenly rights herself and yanks her feet away. There’s a blush settling across her cheeks and she mouths an apology to him. It’s the first time since he moved in that the proximity is heavy with his emotions for her, the first time that he’s sure if she kissed him right now, all pretenses would be thrown away and he’d be immediately swept under her spell.

Thankfully, Henry isn’t there to witness any of this, having gotten up at some point to refresh his hot chocolate.

“I’m still freezing. I’m gonna take a hot shower and see if I can return feeling to my limbs.”

He almost groans out loud as the thought of her naked follows on the heels of the motion across his groin, but Henry pipes up about playing a video game with him, and he’s distracted out of his thoughts. Even though he’s pushing blankets aside and settling onto the edge of the cushion while Henry grabs the controllers, Killian still notices the way Emma pauses in the doorway, her gaze fixed on him for a half a moment before she disappears down the hallway. If Henry weren’t here, there’s nothing besides her word that would stop him from following her.

The parade isn’t as bad as he thought, but that might be because they miraculously find a spot that another family vacates when their child has a dramatic meltdown over not being able to take home the inflated animals that are lumbering ever closer to their position.

They stick around long enough to watch several balloons and marching bands, musicians that Killian doesn’t know, and plenty of colorful performers in their bright costumes doing flashy moves for the amusement of the masses gathered to see them. As much as he enjoys the experience, he’s relieved when Henry starts complaining about the drizzling rain that’s begun to cling to their clothes and catch in their eyelashes.

Both he and Emma notice the small storefront they pass on the way home at almost the same exact time. There’s a red sign in the window, the stylized white letters spelling out a message that causes them both to pause, even as Henry keeps talking about what they need to do for dinner.

“You’ll find what you need in Chinatown,” Henry reads aloud, startling Killian and Emma out of their thoughts. “That’s cryptic.”

“That’s good advertising,” Emma jokes.

“Nothing more than a clever trick of words,” he adds. From the corner of his eye, he sees movement, and he’s pretty sure that’s Walsh ducking out of sight. It’s becoming increasingly clear that he’s stalking them now, and Killian wonders just how much he knows about either of them and where they come from.

“Let’s get home and get that food started,” Emma says, throwing an arm over Henry’s shoulder. It’s meant to be a casual gesture, but Killian can see the protectiveness in her stance, and they continue their walk back to the apartment with eyes following them the whole way.

It's a lengthy process getting dinner together, and the apartment is overly warm for the entirety of the afternoon and evening, even once they’ve cracked open the large windows closest to the kitchen. Both he and Emma had jumped when Henry tried to open them further, and Emma made some excuse about the flimsy screens and a faulty pane when Killian knows she’s just as worried about what they could potentially invite in by opening them too far.

“Why didn’t you make a full turkey, mom?”

“Because I’m not Martha Stewart and I want to eat sometime this week,” she responds easily, holding back a smirk when it’s obvious that Killian has no idea what she’s talking about. He finds she delights in the references he doesn’t get, and he adds this Miss Stewart to the list of things he needs to look up on the internet the next time he has a chance.

The table is more resplendent than it usually is when they sit down to dinner that night. Emma pulls out a linen tablecloth that obviously never saw the outside of its packaging before this day, smoothing out the creases from being folded for so long the best she can while Henry places plates in spots for the three of them. Killian observes the way they set the cutlery and matching linen napkins, and Henry brings over a handmade centerpiece they fashioned in school over the last week, something from his arts class that he's remarkably proud of.

While it’s obvious this isn’t something they did during the missing year, it’s something they do well, and it seems entirely natural for them to set a third place to include Killian. Henry stops them before they can start passing the various dishes around, however, looking to each of them as he speaks.

“We should go around and say what we’re thankful for. I’ll start,” he says, taking a few determined breaths before he looks in turn at Killian and his mother. “I’m thankful for my mom, and that she always has my back. And I’m thankful for Killian, for making my mom so happy. See, when she was with that last guy, she didn’t smile as much as I’ve seen her smile since you showed up, Killian. And plus, you play video games with me, and I don’t have to spend as much time with Mrs. Q and her weird cats.”

Killian is speechless after such a moving statement, addition about weird cats excluded.

Emma gives Henry a fond look before giving her answer. “I’m thankful for the food on our table and the roof over our heads. That my son is so smart, and getting good grades in all his classes. And that Killian is here with us, and knowing he has our backs, too.” She raises her glass with a watery smile, and Killian looks down at his plate with what he knows is a sheepish expression.

“I’m thankful for both of you,” Killian finally says after Henry gently nudges his fake hand. “For allowing me into your lives and your home.” He directs the last words to Emma, but he can hear Henry make a noise.

“Do I need to look away so you two can get mushy and kiss?”

The light laugh that rushes out of Emma’s mouth relieves the tension that had built around them again, and she shakes her head. “No, we’ll save that for after you go to bed.” When Henry looks between them to see if she’s telling the truth, Killian makes sure to wink in her direction before picking up the bowl of mashed potatoes.

It’s the best first Thanksgiving he could’ve ever asked for.

He lives through what they call “Black Friday” although he’s convinced he almost got trampled on his way to the bookstore that morning. And once he survives that, he updates his list of hazardous events he managed to live through. He is, after all, a survivor as well as a pirate.

Emma ends up working the night before Henry goes back to school, so he and Killian spend the time before he’s to go to bed playing video games. Killian is still mostly terrible at them, but he’s getting better each time they play. He’s knocked off balance and his character falls into a ravine when Henry asks his next question.

“What are you getting mom for Christmas?”

He has no bloody clue what Christmas even is, so he doesn’t know what an appropriate answer to the question might be.

“I haven’t decided yet. What are you getting her?”

“Killian, you have a _month_ to find her the perfect gift. And I mean _perfect_. You always have to get the right thing for the person you love the most.”

“Do I, now?”

“Yep. And you should buy her son something really cool, too.”

“Will you help me?”

“Oh, I make a list. You’ll have all the help you can get.”

“Not for you, lad, for your mother,” Killian says, his smile breaking any exasperation he was trying to convey.

Henry heaves a sigh, the perfected art of tortured pre-teen as he runs through an adversary in the game. “I have to do everything around here.”

It takes Killian one day to discover that he despises the holiday shoppers that have undoubtedly crowded the whole city. Everywhere he goes, the shops are past capacity, the sidewalks are unbearable, and the foot traffic always seems to be going the opposite direction he is. And the cold – he could _definitely_ do without the cold, with snow falling in fat flakes the closer they get to the end of the year and his breath forming a cloud in front of his face as he tries to keep up with Henry.

They’ve traipsed through no less than ten stores just today, one week removed from the initial conversation about purchasing presents for Emma. He spent his entire shift the next day at the till, watching the shop for the elderly couple that wanted just one more day to their holiday. Despite the influx of shoppers everywhere, few wandered into the book store except for those truly dedicated to reading, or those shopping for that intended audience.

He learned all about Christmas that he could from the dusty books on the shelves. He took to the internet after a while to learn more, and found other holidays along the way – Hanukkah, New Years, Valentine’s Day, Easter, Passover – page after page of holidays that he had to put into categories depending on religion, and then he spent more time searching religions to understand. The knowledge he gained told him that Christmas has very little to do with this Christ figure anymore, but rather some over-inflated commercialism.

On one hand, it’s all fascinating information to learn, and on the other hook, it’s slightly disheartening to find that Henry’s ideals of finding what can be defined as perfection for the one he loves is not a widely-held belief. Sure, there are those who subscribe to the same notion, as obvious by the guests that walk into the book store looking for, by their expressions, the _perfect_ gift.

As yet another person slams into him while walking in the opposite direction, however, he remembers that the number of people that value gift-giving as an art over commodity is low. Henry looks over his shoulder to make sure Killian is still behind him, and as they near another shop he grabs Killian’s sleeve and leads him into the kitschy store. He’s about to call it quits for the day when he spots something near the register. It’s a small display, with several cartoon versions of people they know to be real, or at least _he_ does.

There’s Mulan, Cinderella, Aurora, and Belle. There are several he doesn’t know. There’s one he wishes he could forget as he spots the Mermaid and rubs his cheek absentmindedly. And then there’s Snow White. He grins at the simplistic representation, and how sweet she’s depicted in the very stylized format. He digs out his wallet and pays the shopkeeper, stuffing the small brown bag in his pocket as he waits for his change.

“Find something good?” Henry asks, appearing at his elbow.

“It’s not the perfect gift, lad, but it’s something that your mother will appreciate.” Henry accepts his answer as satisfactory and they push back out of the shop and into the December chill.

He’s relieved when they enter the apartment, leaving their shoes at the door and shedding their winter wear in the appropriate locations.

“Hide that somewhere she won’t look for it,” Henry tells him, nodding at the small bag he’s pulled from his pocket. He immediately heads for the closet in their bedroom, going directly for the heavy leather hanging in the back. The bag gets slipped into one of the inner pockets in his pirate coat, and he lingers a moment to appreciate the worn quality, the leathery smell of the sea that still clings to it, before he pushes everything else back in place and goes to start dinner.

Emma is just walking into the kitchen when he emerges from the hallway leading to their rooms and she smiles brightly at him as she gives Henry a quick hug.

“What have you boys been up to?”

“Top secret mission,” Henry immediate responds, grinning up at his mother with that twinkle of mischief in his eye that Killian recognizes as something inherited from his father. It’s the first time since Thanksgiving that he’s thought about the fact that this life isn’t real, that he remembers there’s an ultimate goal to all of this pretending, and it sobers him immediately.

Emma releases Henry and comes to give him a hug – their customary greeting when she returns home from work –  but just as she wraps her arms around his shoulders she catches his expression and she hugs him tighter than she normally would.

“Are you okay? Everything all right?”

“Aye, Swan. All’s well.” He hugs her back just as tight, however, taking the few extra moments of her closeness to compose himself and his thoughts once more. They have an act to carry out, at least for a few more hours, until he can talk to Emma about where his mind has wandered.

Once Henry is fast asleep, Emma rounds on Killian almost immediately. “Okay, what’s up?”

“Do you still think about that sign we saw on the way home from the parade?”

“The weird Chinatown sign?”

“Would you like to make a trip to Chinatown this week while Henry is in school? Poke around and see what we can find? Maybe what we’re looking for really is just in a different part of the city than we’ve been looking.”

She considers it, her lips pursing as she drops onto the couch to curl against his side. It’s such an automatic position for them to sit in now, that he just as easily rests his arm around her shoulders and pulls her close. “Not like we’ve had any other luck. Check your schedule tomorrow and we’ll plan a day.”

As soon as he secures his schedule for the week, Killian spends the quiet morning at work looking through websites that Henry suggested if he wanted to get out of foot traffic and still find a gift for Emma. It doesn’t take more than an hour for him to locate the perfect gift, very reminiscent of their first meeting. The main pendant of the necklace is a compass, small yet ornate, and he discovers that they offer personalization of some sort for the blank side. With a mental whoop of victory, he indicates his directions for the engraving, and goes to find the owner. The kindly woman readily agrees to let him use her credit card when he hands her more cash than it’ll cost to even have it shipped, and tells him to have it sent to the bookstore so he doesn’t have to risk it arriving when Emma is home and he’s working.

“You are a true gem in this often-bleak city, Mrs. Charles.”

He makes sure to put forth his whole effort for the rest of the day, and the next couple shifts that follow, helping Mr. Charles pull down the books from each shelf so they can clean the place until it shines. He revels in the old tomes and manuscripts as he handles them, the smell of libraries thankfully identical to the few he managed to come across in the Enchanted Forest.

By the day before he’s due to go with Emma to explore, there’s a lightness in the shop that was buried beneath the stale air and layers of dust. They clean out the window displays and reorganize those, as well, giving the front of the store a warm appearance to draw in the people from the cold streets. He’s particularly smug about it when he helps set up a hot chocolate station for the guests – little more than hot water and packets – but he makes sure that there’s cinnamon, as well, and credits the addition to his brilliant girlfriend when Mrs. Charles asks.

As he walks home from his shift that day, there’s an unstoppable smile on his face. Once, when he was a fresh-faced sailor, he could’ve seen himself following a life of expected moments. He figured he would find a woman to wed, make babes with her, build a home out of love like he never truly had besides what Liam had on hand to readily offer him, by way of brotherly love. And while he fully knows that this life he’s living is little more than a charade, he also knows the depths of his emotions for Emma and Henry, and knows contentment from work doing little more than shuffling boxes of books from one corner of the storage room to the next in some puzzling attempt at supreme organization.

While he would prefer walking around with his hook (he never thought he’d say this, but he _misses_ the blasted thing), he has found that the man he’s become is the man he’s longed to be. He will never forget his pirate life, or any of the things that make him both Killian Jones and Captain Hook, but he’s perfectly content as he steps off the lift and walks down the hall to the apartment.

It’s been almost two months since he first stood in front of this door, the numbers staring back at him and daring him to get his hopes up, mocking him when they were slammed back in his face when he proved to be wrong. Now, he slides his key into the lock and calls out his homecoming, greeting Henry with a companionable hand on his shoulder and welcoming Emma into his arms for an embrace.

Despite how comfortable he is in this newfound life, there’s a sense of purpose when he and Emma arrive in Chinatown. Of course, the sign didn’t specify where they would find the answers they sought, so they start wandering at random in hopes of stumbling upon the answer, much like they did the original storefront.

It’s after an hour of this ambling, an hour of Emma companionably silent by his side, except for when she points out something to explain its meaning, that they finally stop in front of a sign that has them glancing at each other and grinning.

The decision to walk around was one of hope and sheer luck, and Killian can’t honestly say he was expecting them to succeed. But there in the front window, in a familiar font, is a sign that simple reads “You’ll find what you seek inside.”

Emma’s the one that reaches out for his hand, her fingers interlocking between his own. By the strength of her grip, he’s fairly certain how she feels about their discovery and what it might mean, but he still asks. “Nervous?”

“Yeah, you?”

“Aye, but we’ve gotten this far on happenstance, so hopefully this will get us a little further.” He squeezes her hand back in reassurance and motions with his fake hand for her to proceed.

He wonders if there’s a dip in Emma’s stomach the size of the Jolly Roger, like there is in his.

The inside of the shop is bigger than Killian expects, especially when the entire place is only being tended to by a single man, currently occupied with slowly sweeping in front of an expansive counter. There are jars of questionable items lining the shelves to his left, boxes of other products to his right, and the man turns to greet them with an expression like he was expecting them the whole time.

“I see you finally found your way,” he says, smiling cryptically at them both.

“You know who I am?” Emma asks, her voice is strong and the set of her shoulders speaks of determination.

“I do, Savior. I was wondering how long it would be before you showed up.”

“You’ve really been expecting us the whole time?” Mystery has never really been his strong suit, but it just seems unlikely that this man has been waiting around for them to appear, and it should be even less likely that he really knows who they are and just made a lucky guess.

“Since that portal deposited you in the city, I have, Captain Hook.”

Well, it’s a good thing he’s not a gambling man when not using his own loaded dice. Emma shares a look with him, raising her eyebrow at the surprising knowledge this man holds.

“We want to get back home. Can you tell us if it’s here?” If her palm against his was not starting to sweat, he would assume her perfectly calm, especially when the man makes them wait before answering.

“I’m going to assume you do not mean here, in the city. But here, in this world.” They both nod at him. “The place you seek is where you’ve always found it.”

 _But it wasn’t there_ , Killian thinks, and his eyebrows furrow as his lips turn down in a frown.

“Correct, young man. It wasn’t visible to you, but it is still there.”  
  
“I hardly classify as a young man,” Killian scoffs, forgetting all decorum in the face of absurdity, especially when he’s taken to reading minds.

“When you hit an age in the thousands instead of hundreds of years, all others seem young to you.”

Killian opens his mouth to reply again, but Emma subtly yanks on his hand.

“Um, excuse me mister…”

“I am called the Dragon.”

“Well, mister dragon, we just want to know _how_ to get back in. We went and couldn’t find anything,” Emma says, a hint of frustration riding beneath her words. “We assumed it would be a little less forest-y, but you’re saying Storybrooke is back?”

“You were not yet equipped with what will guide you in.”

“Money is no issue. I’ve got all the coin you could ever dream of. How much will it cost?” At his words, Emma’s head swivels in his direction and her eyes are wide. He’s not sure if it’s because she thinks him a liar or can’t believe he’d offer his money to ensure return passage to Storybrooke.

But the man just smiles, puzzling and soft as ever, and shakes his head. “It will not cost you money today because it is not magic you can buy.”

“My magic?”

“Savior magic will not work in New York, but you already know that.”

“Is – is it something we can find here?”

“It is not. It will be the magic you give something by believing in it. This item will guide you home when you are ready to follow it.”


	3. Chapter 3

“What the _hell_ was that supposed to mean?”

Killian is right on her heels as she exits the shop and turns in the direction of the apartment. All they’ve been handed is a whole bunch of riddles and coded messages, as far as she’s concerned. She’s frustrated beyond measure at this point. It’s getting harder by the day to keep all the threads of her life in place, and she can’t do that if she’s frazzled, and _feeling_ things, and –

The second Killian’s hand grasps hers, she slows and eventually stops. Her mind is still racing, but the way he’s gently rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand has her calm in record time. There’s no creepy sensation crawling up her back, Henry isn’t there for the show, but still she fits herself against Killian, her temple resting against his jaw as his arms wind around her in comfort.

She lets herself have this moment, barely even registering the reason why it might be strange to turn her face and let her lips brush against his jaw. It’s not like she inherently means to make the connection – she just _does_.

“Emma?” He says her name so quietly, with so many questions behind those two little syllables, that she knows without looking what his expression will be.

_This could be the turning point_ , she thinks. _If I turn a little more, if I kiss him now –_ but she stops herself from finishing the thought. If she kisses him now, it’ll be for the wrong reasons. And now, Emma wants to kiss him for the right reasons. She drops her forehead back down to his shoulder, exhaling an apology as she does, and closing her eyes against the overwhelming sensations weighing down on her.

“Let’s get you home, love. I’ll make us lunch.”

Months of burying her frustration with knowing-yet-not-knowing finally make their way to the surface as they walk back to the apartment. She stays quiet during the return trip, something that Killian obviously notices but doesn’t comment on. Instead, he leads her through the door and takes her coat, telling her to make herself comfortable while he puts their food together.

“You seem vexed, Swan.”

“Just frustrated,” she admits as she pokes at the vegetables he’s steamed up for them. She was right, he is the health nut in this household.

Just the thought of their _home_ makes her brows scrunch together. It seems like they’ve done everything they could to get back to Storybrooke, but they’re _still_ missing the mark. For the first time, Emma wants to admit that she misses it, that she misses her _parents_ , but the words stick in her throat.

There was a moment, actually it was several moments, after she took the memory potion that all she wanted was to have that ignorance back. She didn’t want to remember the time she spent in Storybrooke. She didn’t want to remember the time she didn’t have Henry in her life. It was easier to pretend that she hadn’t seen Neal since the day he left her to take the fall for the watches.

With Killian in her life, she’s at least not alone. There’s someone else to remember the stuff that she’s been through, to be some kind of witness to the obstacles she’s hurdled over that go beyond just hard-working. But she knows that there’s a family who misses her, and misses Henry, and that’s what sits like lead in her stomach.

Home, she remembers Neal telling her once, is a place that when you leave it, you miss it. That you can’t shake that feeling. While she’s not overjoyed with the thought of figuring out three-split custody with the evil queen and the son of Rumpelstiltskin, Emma also knows that Henry deserves a chance to see his family again. Whether or not he’ll remember them when they get there is still yet to be seen.

“-course, if you’re not listening to a word a say, then we’ve got quite the dilemma on our hands.”

“What?” She finally clears her vision and looks over at Killian, whose plate is clean and is clearly exasperated but still smirking at her.

“’Bout time my words got through that thick fog of thought you were in,” he says, sliding off his chair and walking around the island to rinse his dish off. “Do you want me to reheat that, or would you like to wait until you’re hungry again?”

“It’s fine,” she waves him off, realizing that her stomach is completely empty and the food in front of her may have cooled a bit, but she’s learned that anything Killian makes is going to taste amazing hot or cold. “So, what do you think that all meant?”

“What the Dragon spoke of? Hard to say. But it’s clear that we need to have some measure of patience waiting for this magical talisman to make itself known to us.” He leans against the counter behind him, scratching behind his ear as speaks.

Emma grumbles around a mouthful of food, finally spearing the last carrot on her plate and pushing the dish over to Killian as he holds out his hand for it.

“Listen, Swan, I know how difficult this must be. But there are things beyond our powers working against us, currently. We just need to keep looking for whatever it was he was talking about. We’ll find it, love, I know we will.”

“A hope speech from Captain Hook? Now I’ve heard everything.”

“Ha ha,” he deadpans, lightly flicking the water from his fingertips in her direction and smiling as she squawks and ducks away from it.

Two days later, she calls and tells Killian that she’ll be later than normal, that she has some extra paperwork to take care of. He assures her that he’ll hold down the fort while she’s gone (his words, not hers) and she heads out into the city to find him a gift. Henry is already taken care of, but that probably has something to do with the detailed list he left stuck to the fridge a few weeks ago.

Thankfully, her search doesn’t last long. It takes three stores for her to find exactly what she’s looking for, and she can’t help the satisfied smile that spreads across her face as the cashier hands her a receipt and her box.

It takes a certain skill to get Killian out of the apartment, with Henry in tow, on a mission to get dinner just long enough for her to sneak in and hide the gift. She takes an extra minute to pull it from the packaging, inspecting what has to be the manliest looking jewelry box she’s ever seen in her life. And knowing a pirate, she delights when she finds the hidden switch on the side to open a hidden compartment. It’s large enough to hide his hook, and she is so _very_ tempted to see if she can find it among his things to stash it now.

The second she touches his leather coat, however, she decides against it. Instead, she brushes her fingers along the details. She lingers a little longer on the lapels, remembering how it felt to grip them in Neverland. The memory is a sudden rush of heat along her cheekbones, the sensation of his hair between her fingers, the way his mouth fit perfectly against hers. She hums low in consideration, pushing everything back in front of the coat.

She manages to hide the jewelry box in the linen closet, and she’s nonchalantly reading on the couch by the time her boys walk back through the door.

In the weeks leading up to Christmas, they get no closer to figuring out just what the Dragon meant. Nothing makes itself apparent, and despite how much she tries to will Storybrooke into existence in front of her, it doesn’t work. Nothing glows, nothing whooshes like it did after she admitted she loved Henry, nothing floats ahead of her to lead the way back to Storybrooke. Nothing, nothing, nothing.

She resigns herself to the fact that it’s not going to happen before the holidays, especially when it’s Christmas Eve and she’s struggling to wrap Killian’s present before he gets home from the bookstore. Henry, unhelpfully, is sitting on one of the chairs at the kitchen table eating cookies and giving her running commentary on her wrapping technique. He’ll be asleep when she wraps his later – a fact that she is extremely grateful for.

“What about your skills, kid? You want me to critique your wrapping skills when I open my gift?”

“I’m twelve, mom,” he tells her. “I’m supposed to be bad at it.”

“Mmhmm, sure.”

Thankfully, he gets bored and wanders over to play video games shortly after, leaving Emma to finish her job in peace. There’s something quaintly sentimental about signing her name to the tag and sticking it beneath the bow. She’s already anxious for him to open it, already excited to give a pirate a new treasure chest.

Killian does his best to assist her in wrapping Henry’s gifts from both of them.

“I’ll admit, Swan, Mrs. Charles wrapped mine for me. It was either that or gift bags, and Henry insisted that I wasn’t permitted to take the easy way out with those.”

She smiles, looking up at him from beneath her eyelashes as she shakes her head a little. “Of course, he would. Are we going to have to take this couple with us when we go? I feel like we accidentally adopted a set of grandparents.”

“At least they’re a fair bit more fitting to the part than your parents, Swan. Tell me again how you came to live with your mother before the curse broke,” he prods. It’s not the first time he’s prompted her to talk about her parents, or her past in general. She knows there’s still skeletons all over both their closets, but she easily regales him with the story of Mary Margaret offering her a home.

She goes to sleep thinking that momentum is such a funny thing, thinking about how the next morning will immediately tumble into the New Year, and wondering how many other holidays they’ll be in New York City to experience. But first comes this one, and she’s sure Henry will be waking them up far too early in his excitement. Her eyes finally drift shut as her mind settles down, with Killian’s breathing slow and even beside her.

Emma wakes up tucked against Killian, his hand resting high on her abdomen and his face buried somewhere against the back of her neck. Every time he exhales, it sends a shiver down her spine, and she’s willing to admit that she doesn’t want to move from this spot for a couple more hours. Unfortunately, she can hear Henry in the second bathroom and she knows this moment is extremely limited.

Sure enough, there’s frantic knocking on the door less than a minute later, and Killian stirs behind her, mumbling an apology against the sensitive skin his lips are touching. She just barely stops herself from moaning, and she wonders how much longer she can resist her own emotions for this man, along with her undeniable attraction to him. While her thoughts are running rampant, she waves off the apology and wishes him a Merry Christmas.

They don’t even touch gifts until they’ve eaten breakfast (a group effort) and Emma’s had two cups of coffee. They let Henry go first, since he’s far more eager than either of the adults and because Emma wants the chance to sit back and watch him enjoy this experience. Christmas was never something she enjoyed growing up, but the memories Regina gave her for the first ten Christmases with Henry were always something quiet and good, so of course she kept the traditions when they moved here.

Now, pressed against Killian’s side as she sips her coffee, this memory will definitely rank high against the real memories she has of holiday after holiday spent alone. She jolts when Henry exclaims his thanks, and she just barely manages to set her coffee down on the table in front of her before her son, all lanky twelve feet of him it seems, throws himself at her for a hug. One of his arms is thrown around Killian in joint-thanks for the gifts he bought, and she might always remember the look of stunned affection he has as he carefully puts his arm around Henry.

“You guys are the best!” he says, one last time, as if the first twenty times he said it weren’t adequate. He’s happy to settle down next to their small, artificial tree after that, urging Emma to tear into the hastily wrapped box in front of her.

Henry’s hard-earned allowance (he got an extra ten dollar bonus for a streak of zero dead houseplants) has gone to a new beanie and gloves for her, soft to the touch, and she’s relieved when she sees the tag that they aren’t real cashmere because she would’ve subtly paid her son back for something so extravagant. She slides the hat on immediately, covering her poorly tamed bed-head, and sets the gloves to the side in favor of picking up the delicately wrapped boxes from Killian.

“To my Swan,” the tag reads, and she bites her lip to stop from smiling much wider than she already is. Neither box is particularly big – in fact, they’re both rather small – but she goes for the top and smaller one first. Nestled inside is a keychain, no bigger than her thumb, in the shape of Snow White. She laughs, first, to match the image of what’s in her hand with the woman who shot an ogre in the eye with a bow and arrow to save her.

She’s not expecting the rush of emotion that follows that thought, however. Suddenly, her eyes are misting over and she can feel her lips trembling, and she closes her eyes as she closes her fingers around it.

“Swan,” Killian says quietly, the worry clear in his voice, so she leans into him, leans into the arm that tightens around her.

“I love it,” she finally manages to say, her voice still thick with emotion but at least she managed to hold back the tears. “It’s adorable.”

“I didn’t realize you liked Snow White so much, mom.”

“She has a special place in my heart,” Emma says. That’s definitely not a lie, since her mother certainly does rest easily in her heart at all times now. She sets the keychain aside until she can loop her onto her keys and starts tearing into the wrapping paper on the longer box. Simply from being a woman, she’s willing to bet it’s jewelry, but she has no idea what Killian would find based on what he’s seen her wear before.

Her breath catches as she lifts the lid to find the gift inside. The delicate needle of the compass shifts as she carefully picks up the main pendant, and her fingers encounter the engraving on the other side before she has a chance to flip it over. She’s not entirely surprised to see the stars on the back, but she _is_ pleased that it’s more than just a swan drawn there. The Cygnus constellation has always been a favorite of hers.

“It’s perfect,” she says on a sigh, turning it over and over to admire both sides. Leave it to a sailor to find something so wonderful. There are so many other things she could say about it, including but not limited to jokes about Lake Nostos, how the last time he gave her a compass she left him chained at the top of a beanstalk, something about jabbing and swords, but she just repeats how perfect it is before leaning over and giving him a lingering kiss on the cheek.

“I’m glad you like it, love. Now, I think it’s my turn,” he says with a wink.

He grabs for the gift from Henry first, and no surprise, it’s a nice hat and pair of gloves, and a scarf as well. It’s not that Killian has refused to add the proper winterwear to his wardrobe, it’s just that he never seems to stray far from the one pair of leather gloves he already had.  Emma wastes no time in snagging the hat and sliding it over his matching bed hair.

“Thank you, lad. Maybe I’ll be a little less averse to the weather when I leave the building in these.” They share a smile, and Emma looks between the two of them for a moment with a sudden panging realization. She loves them both. She loves her son, _god_ does she love Henry – cannot imagine what her life would be if he hadn’t shown up on her doorstep that day. And not only him, she loves Killian. She is in love with Captain Hook.

That momentum she fell asleep thinking about feels a whole lot more real in the face of this realization. It was only a matter of time before her feelings matched his, and now it’s happened. And it’s not because of the beautiful necklace that she decides needs to be around her neck now, and it’s not because he’s devoted his time and energy to keeping her and Henry safe. It’s all the little moments that they’ve spent together between now and the moment she got her memories back, and even before then.

Her thoughts are interrupted when Killian tosses the crumpled wrapping paper into the trash bag Henry is holding open for him, and then he’s reaching for the box with Emma’s somewhat-adequate wrapping job. She has just a moment of nerves as he opens it, and then the smile is giving away his appreciation as he lifts the wooden box from its packaging.

“Figured it was time for you to have a modern-day treasure chest,” Emma tells him as she slips the wrapping paper away and throws it to Henry.

“It’s brilliant, Swan. I love it!” He spends a few more minutes poking around the outside of it, and it’s obvious he’s aware that there’s more than meets the eye but can’t figure out how to access the secret. He must sense her watching him because he looks up with the question clear in his eyes, but she takes a page out of his book and winks at him, standing up to collect her gifts and start tidying up. She’ll make him wait a little longer to complete the puzzle.

They make lazy lunch after the living room has been mostly cleared out, leaving the Christmas movie marathons to play on TV while they graze on a spread of brunch items and leftovers from breakfast. The rest of the day follows that same pace, with dinner acting as a third, relaxed meal. Henry falls asleep not more than an hour after the kitchen is cleaned from dinner, and she and Killian work together to put him to bed. When he’s all tucked in and the light is out, Emma detours into the bedroom and tells Killian to find his hook.

“There’s a secret compartment,” she explains when he’s retrieved it from the depths of the closet. She waits until she has his full attention, then finds the hidden switch to pop the drawer open. He stifles his exclamation but doesn’t hold back the smile that lights up his face.

Just as she guessed, the hook fits perfectly inside, with a little extra room for anything else he’d like to hide. She closes it back up once he’s slipped the heavy metal appendage inside and guides him through opening it again. Satisfied that he can open and close it on his own, he seals the hidden drawer again and slides the box into place on the dresser. It looks like it was made to fit in with her items.

She falls asleep on the couch with her head resting on Killian’s chest. The lights on the tree blur together until her eyes fall closed, and she sends a silent wish that when they get back to Storybrooke that their next Christmas can feel this perfect.

-x-

Emma falls asleep moments before he does, but Killian wakes up just a short bit later with the realization that they should move to the bed for a restful night sleep. When Emma fails to make more than a mumbled reply in her sleep, he takes it upon himself to get them there. Spending another minute making sure he’s just awake enough to get the job done, he shifts from under Emma’s hold and turns to pick her up. It’s still not as easy as it would be with two hands, but at least he’s less concerned with the possibility of catching her with his hook this way.

She’s already in her pajamas, so he sets her on the bed before going back out to turn off the last of the lights and shut the door before he goes to ready himself for bed. He’s no sooner slipping in under the covers beside Emma than she rolls into him, settling immediately back into slumber when they’re both cocooned under the warm blankets.

Tonight’s sleeping attire is warmer, with a flannel shirt keeping her modesty, and he’s thankful. Once or twice he’s woken in the mornings to find her exposed from the camisoles she sleeps in, and has quickly averted his gaze while tugging the blankets over her. Were they a real couple, he would gladly take the opportunity to look his fill, but even if Emma seems to be leaning a little more towards something true he still protects her modesty above all else.

His hand trails along the soft material covering her bicep as he thinks about the tag she wrote out. Her simple signature of “Love, Emma” is still clear even when he closes his eyes. He thinks of her reactions to her gifts, the unshed tears in her eyes when she looked upon the caricature of her mother, and the adoration as she clasped the necklace around her neck. He watched that compass sway like a pendulum when she stood to gather the rubbish around the living room, and felt his heart warm at how much she seemed to love both items.

And Henry, well, the lad’s reaction to the gifts – the exact ones he asked for – was so overwhelming that he was nearly speechless. He’s discovered that somewhere along the last couple months that he has genuine love in his heart for the boy. He is not Henry’s father, but he sincerely hopes that he’s earned a spot as more than just his mother’s partner. There’s the added complication of Henry changing his mind once his memories are back, but he does hope the boy will appreciate what they’ve done to keep him safe.

He falls asleep to Emma’s warmth surrounding him, and wakes up in a rush towards the new year. After their shared Christmas, Emma is demonstrably more affectionate with him, whether Henry is around or not. Their nights are split between soft conversation over card games and comfortable silence during television programming.

Emma informs him that the biggest party on the east coast happens in the city, but threatens his manhood if he wishes to see it first-hand like they did for Thanksgiving.

“I assure you, Swan, I’m very content in life experiences for the moment. And you said this ball that will drop is visible from the rooftop, aye?”

“Yeah, I mean, it’s not going to be as big as real life, but we’ll be able to watch it drop and see the fireworks from here. That’s good enough, right?”

A single nod seals the deal and they join the festivities up on the patio as the tenants all join together.

“There’s another tradition,” Emma tells him as they stand on the outskirts of a cluster of the building’s children. “When the clock strikes twelve, everyone kisses to ring in the new year. It’s a whole big celebration, and we’ll be expected to.”

“I read up on the holiday a while back when learning about Christmas. As long as you’re okay with kissing me, love, then I would be a fool of a man to turn down an opportunity.”

They’re both outfitted in their warm weather gear that Henry got them, and he idly notices that they match. He also notices that Emma’s gaze is fixated on his lips, and he fights the smug smile that wants to appear. “At least wait until midnight, Emma. It wouldn’t do to be the inappropriate adults of the group and start the neighbors all talking.”

She scoffs, but laughs and bumps him with her shoulder while agreeing with him.

The kids present at midnight get plastic cups of sparkling grape juice, while the adults drink reasonable amounts of champagne, and Killian watches in fascination as the sphere in the distance drops down and the group all starts buzzing with anticipation.

“Killian?”

“Hmm?” She’s standing tall and looks just the tiniest bit nervous as she turns to face him. They’re in the last minute of the year, and he’s very serious in the face of what could be bad news.

“When the countdown ends, I’m going to kiss you.”

He narrows his eyes at her, not comprehending. “So we’ve just discussed, Swan.”

“No, Killian. I’m going to kiss you. For real. For all the right reasons. So uh, it’s not pretend anymore.”

Realization dawns at the same time the countdown begins, and he is only vaguely aware of the chanting of numbers. Henry is still in his periphery, but Killian is thankful that they’re amongst all the others tonight so this moment can happen without a threat of immediate danger.

“Happy New Year,” Emma murmurs as the cheering begins all around them. The city seems to rejoice all at once. He doesn’t get a chance to respond before her lips are on his, and Emma Swan is fully in his arms.

Of all the times he’s kissed her, this is by far the best. The first kiss was raw and a struggle to overpower the other. He was a fool, then, thinking that he could ever be more dominant than Emma, but he’s less of a fool at this moment as he gives her this kiss. He thinks to protest when she pulls away much sooner than he wants her to, but he’s brought back to the reality that they are surrounded by the building residents that wanted to celebrate this night.

His eyes finally focus on her smile, then the fireworks going off in the distance. They stand and watch, accepting the appropriate salutations from Henry when he finally remembers they’re there. He quickly goes back to enjoying his extended curfew, and even pushes for more just a moment later by asking to spend the night with a family that lives on the second floor. Their twin boys wish to have Henry stay the night and Emma happily agrees as she slips her hand into Killian’s.

The younglings all disappear shortly after the last of the fireworks dissipate from the night sky, leaving just the adults unwilling to start the new year by sleeping. Instead, the lighthearted party continues.

After that kiss, it’s like the world entirely changes but doesn’t change at all. Killian’s at a loss for what sensations he feels as the party continues. He knows one thing for certain: Emma is leaning with her back against his chest, softly swaying and humming to the music that someone is playing from a stereo as her hands rest on the arms he’s wrapped around her waist. When she leans her head back on his shoulder, he turns and presses a kiss to her temple, lingering down her cheek until he reaches a spot just below her ear. She loses the tune after that, humming instead in appreciation before turning her face back to his.

There’s some part of him that recognizes that what they’re doing is what Emma once called “tongue kissing” and they’re not alone, but a quick break from the kiss reveals that none of the adults left at the party seem to notice or mind, and others are in much the same state as they are.

When the festivities end, they’ve spent hardly a minute without contact, and he only wishes to retire to their home so that he might kiss her a little longer, to record the taste and shape of her mouth to memory. Were that to be the end of his night, hell, the end of his life, he’d likely be okay with that.

Alone in the apartment, however, there’s a moment of hesitation. Killian turns off the lights on their tree, which Emma informs him will get taken down in the next day or so, and she disappears briefly to make sure Henry remembered his pajamas. That’s what she claims, however he’s already changed into his sleep clothes and slid into the bed before she comes in. She shifts directly into the bathroom after that, changing and readying herself for sleep.

He’s fidgeting with the edge of the blanket when she comes back out, and he knows that the hint of champagne that he tasted on her lips earlier will be replaced with that of her minty toothpaste. He suddenly itches for another kiss, but he waits to see if she’ll make the move towards him or not. She could very well roll over and turn out the light with little more than a goodnight at this point and he would know it was her choice to do so.

She doesn’t, though, instead sitting back against the headboard and mirroring his stance. He’s wondering if he should say anything, but then her fingers ghost along his blunted wrist. While it’s an area he no longer has much feeling, the faint sensation of her touch causes goosebumps along his arm. He looks down at her hand moving in a gentle caress before looking to her eyes, and he finds the smile on her lips reflected in her gaze. She leans over to kiss him again, and it’s the first kiss since their first one in Neverland that doesn’t have some sort of audience.

Easily, his fingers glide through her hair to settle on the back of her neck. The angle is slightly awkward, to be turned this way, and Emma must sense this or at least that’s why he reasons she pushes the sheet and comforter out of the way before shifting to straddle his thighs.

His body reacts immediately, especially when Emma slides even closer, pressing against his half-hard cock. He moans, but the sound is lost and mingled with her own, a duet of arousal filling the air around them.

“I’m not just doing this because of the holidays or something,” Emma rushes to say at the next break in their kiss. Her hips push forward, likely to alleviate some need for friction, but equally pleasurable for him. “I’m doing this because I want to, have wanted to, _fuck_ I’ve wanted to but I’ve been too afraid and too focused on finding a way home. But now...” She presses forward for another kiss, finding his mouth eager and waiting.

He’s no longer idle, sitting up to fully embrace her and pull her closer if even possible. Her arms go around his neck, one hand sliding into his hair. She takes advantage of his gasp of pleasure, taking complete control of the kiss as her tongue teases his lips. He wants to say how much better this is than their kiss in Neverland, but that would be stating the obvious. This is above and far beyond that moment, not solely because the duration of the experience is prolonged.

More than that reason, there is something to be said for not kissing in the heat of danger. There’s been no provocation for this kiss other than their own willingness. He longs to explore more of the taste of her, but only at her pace, so he’s surprised when Emma starts pushing up his shirt, urging him to release his hold on her to raise his arms over his head long enough for her to pull off the garment. Without asking, she copies the gesture, leaving her upper half bare to him.

Some part of his brain whispers _finally_ and he not only looks, but reaches out to touch, as well. Her skin is just as soft as he imagined it would be, and he delights in the sounds she makes when his fingertips brush over the nipple of one breast, and then the other. Closing his mouth around one while his hand mimics the actions of his tongue around the other one produces a whole new set of noises, much swearing, and a pleasurable tug of the hair on the back of his head. She pulls again when he doesn’t move, and even when he does it’s only to switch to the other breast. It seems she can’t complain about that, instead letting her head fall back in pleasure.

Of course, that exposes the long line of her neck to him, and he abandons his current quest to journey up to where he was exploring before they came inside. While he hopes for more breathy moans and whispers of his name, it’s him instead that groans at her touch as one of her hands falls to the minimal space between them to grasp his cock through his flannel bottoms.

“Bloody hell,” he gasps out before running his teeth along the silky skin of her shoulder. “Emma, darling, you’ll need to stop that if you want this to last more than a mere minute. Allow me?”

“As you wish,” she replies, her voice husky with want and her smile edging on dirty. It all comes back around to Neverland…

He maneuvers them both until she’s flat on the bed, and he urges her to help him with the removal of her pajamas. He wastes no time after the bottoms have been discarded before he fits his mouth against her clit, using the tip of his tongue to flick back and forth over it as he listens to her directives. _Faster, to the left, touch me, don’t stop, Killian, please don’t stop!_

Every movement he makes is to her specifications, with a finger sliding into her with the same rhythm as he moves his mouth. He listens to the tone and pitch of her words, prolonging the impending climax as much as she’ll allow before her hands grip his hair and hold him in place. The taste of a woman has always been pleasurable for him, but Emma tastes that much sweeter and he shows his appreciation by moaning against her. The gesture is obviously successful as she arches up into him, her request of ‘ _do that again’_ immediately met with compliance.

By the time she comes, her heels are digging into the bed on either side of him as she pushes up into his touch. One hand abandons its hold in his hair in favor of massaging one breast, then sliding up to fist in her own hair. She tugs the strands on both their heads as she comes undone, her breathing ragged and Killian’s name a mantra falling from her lips.

The tension drains out of her body as he pulls away, but she groans as she watches him wipe his mouth and chin. He takes just a moment to strip out of his own bottoms, tossing them off the side of the bed.

“No one,” she says as she catches her breath, “should be that good at that.”

Shifting back up her body, he settles between her legs with his cock pressed against her lower abdomen. He turns into the palm she presses against his cheek, gently biting at the pads of her fingertips as she brushes them past his mouth. “You don’t mean that, love. I think you quite enjoyed that.”

Instead of responding, she pulls him down for a kiss. She uses that to distract him while she shifts beneath him, running his hardened length between her folds and causing them both to gasp at the pleasure. He searches her eyes for any hesitation and only finds desire, and when Emma senses the question he’s asking, she answers.

“I want you, Killian.” She smiles and nods as he tilts his head in consideration. They move together after that, and they both hold their breath as his cock slides into the warmth of her body. She sighs when he’s fully in, her eyes sliding shut as her hands rest on his lower back.

Killian takes a deep breath, but it expels in a quick, disjointed moan when Emma clenches her walls around his length. He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to regain composure and not spend himself too quickly as she tightens around him, but it’s a close call.

“Emma,” he warns, and she bites her lip in response.

“Then move,” she counters. He does, choosing that moment to pull his hips back to slide out of her until just the tip of him is left inside before he pushes forward in one smooth slide. Their twin moans mingle together, and what he means to be a kiss ends up being him burying his face against her neck as he thrusts into her. A moment later he pushes up to his wrist and hand in order to look at the whole picture, and it’s glorious. Emma’s eyes are closed, her mouth slightly agape as she gasps in pleasure. He takes that singular second to appreciate the expanse of curves and skin on display to him before he refocuses on their pleasure.

But she’s the one that gains the upper hand, murmuring quick instructions to flip their positions so they’re back where they began, with his back against the headboard and Emma in his lap, except this time her bare chest is pressed to his, her thighs trembling lightly as she moves up and down in his lap with her arms wrapped tight around him. She speeds up, chasing her release and urging him to come with her in quiet words before her teeth sink into the skin on his shoulder. She sucks at the bite, and he knows there will be a mark left behind.

It’s the catalyst that starts the chain reaction for them both. With a few strokes around her clit, her climax begins, and when she pulses around his cock, it draws him over the edge after her. He can’t see straight for a minute after the sensations subside, only able to trail his fingers up Emma’s spine to cradle the back of her head. Her forehead is resting on his shoulder, her breath slowing and the aftershocks still making him shiver.

“Gimme a minute to clean up?” Emma asks as she finally lifts her head again. Her smile is radiant yet mellow, her body relaxed and fluid in her movements as she extracts herself from his grasp. He nods, taking a moment to comb his hair back with his hand as he slowly comes back down from that high. She leans in and kisses him, lingering to taste his lips again and again before finally turning and walking to the bathroom. He bites his lip as he watches her go, tilting his head to the side as her bare rear end disappears behind the bathroom door.

He'll wait until she’s done to go clean himself up. One look down would surely reveal that he’s a mess, so he lets his heartrate slow as he listens to Emma humming to herself through the closed door. Somewhere in his tired mind, he thinks of the conversations they’ve had about this world, especially when it comes to things like relationships and such, and Killian sits straight up with the realization that they were missing one vital piece of equipment. He hastens to the door, knocking quietly but urgently.

“Emma, didn’t you once tell me that couples of this world use some form of contraceptive for intercourse? Didn’t you tell me about condoms at that pharmacy that day? Emma, we didn’t use a contraceptive and what -?”

The door opens mid-sentence to reveal Emma, still glowing and bare and smiling as she considers his slightly panicked state. “I have a diaphragm. We’ll cover sex ed later, but that’s why it took me so long to come to bed. I uh, had to find it.” She shrugs, reaching up to brush her fingers over the mark she made. “I wasn’t exactly getting laid very often before you showed up and I stored it in the other bathroom when you moved in.” She gives him a kiss on the cheek before shifting out of the way. “Bathroom is all yours!”

The woman is a bloody marvel, no matter what the situation.

When he returns to the bed, Emma is snuggled back under the covers in her pajamas, and he slips his back on before climbing in with her.

“So, a diaphragm, whatever that is. Always learning something new.”

“I didn’t want to mention it in case we didn’t, you know, and talking about shoving a little disk up into me isn’t exactly sexy pillow talk.”

“Darling, you could’ve read the dictionary to me and it still would’ve turned me on.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Emma huffs out, but she still closes the gap to press a kiss to his lips.

“You said you weren’t having much sex before, but you were with that other man long enough for him to propose.” He doesn’t directly ask the question, but leads her to answer if she wishes.

“We didn’t – I mean, we did, but it wasn’t often, or much, or good, and we would use condoms because he was really weird and I’m pretty sure if he could’ve worn five during a blowjob that he would’ve.” The words all come out rushed and flustered, and Killian makes sure to pull her close and attempt to sooth the onslaught of words with a gentle rub of her back. “Sorry, didn’t mean to go into _that_ much detail.”

“It’s all right, love. Interesting to know. Now tell me about these blowjobs. I don’t think we’ve covered that term yet.”

She chuckles, low and sensually, and soon shows him _exactly_ what the term refers to.

-x-

Emma doesn’t fall asleep as easily as Killian once they finally settle down. It’s nearing five in the morning but she can’t get her mind to shut off. The decision to kiss him for real at midnight was anything but hastily planned. She’s been thinking about it all week, and while she easily could’ve just given him one of their usual quick kisses, she’s so thankful for taking the chance to tell him.

She wants to tell him she loves him, but can’t, so she mouths the words against his t-shirt and vows to tell him soon. She adds that she misses her parents, and the loft, and even Granny’s, knowing that she’ll tell him all that much sooner. Back when Killian first showed up, she was adamant about not going back to Storybrooke. She figured they could solve whatever crisis and be back in New York in no time. Now, however, she knows she only could’ve stayed in the city if she’d never taken that memory potion. She does wonder, however, if the situation would’ve been different had they gotten right back into Storybrooke.

Would she and Killian be together? Would she have taken that chance? And if they didn’t, would she still want to run from Storybrooke as soon as the trouble had passed? She’s pretty sure she would’ve tried to leave them all behind, bring Henry back to the city in some false belief that it’s safer. She would still be convinced that home is here instead of wherever she and Henry find the most love. With Killian, now, it’s right here. But if she can get the three of them back to where they belong, it’ll be with her parents, and Henry’s other mother. And Neal, if he’s back.

_Oh god, what will they all think?_ The thought flits through her brain, but thankfully she’s finally drifting off. She knows where her home is, both the physical and the emotional ones, and now it’s just a matter of getting them all in the same place.

There’s a marked difference waking up in Killian’s arms on purpose compared to waking up in them on accident because her subconscious was trying to shout at her. She can’t tell how long he’s been awake, only that his hand is drawing idle pictures on her belly. He’s also hard against her ass, but seems so completely content in his current actions that she wonders if she can talk him into breakfast first before they go again. By her calculations, they have a few hours before Henry will stumble back home and she wouldn’t mind going for another round before that.

With anyone other than Killian, she’s pretty sure she would feel weird talking about birth control options over breakfast. He gets a full explanation of what she used last night, and the other option of condoms which she’s decided to teach him about after breakfast.

Somehow, they still manage to get cleaned up and presentable long before Henry comes home. They spend the first day of their new year taking down the Christmas decorations. Emma makes a mental note to make sure they get packed for the journey back to Storybrooke when they get back in. She wants all of this available for next year so they can hold onto these memories.

When they’re back in bed that night, they remain chastely aware of Henry in the next room and manage to control themselves. It helps that Emma finally opens up about missing her parents.

“I miss the loft,” she tells him, her words quiet in the dark room. “My bed upstairs was small but there was something so oddly comforting about having Henry next to me and my parents downstairs.”

“Will you go back to living with them when we return?”

It’s the first time since he haltingly explained that he would never be faking his emotions with Emma that Killian sounds unsure of himself. They’ve lived together for a little over two months, and if they go back, this could all change. It’s one thing to say that they won’t be different when they get to Storybrooke while they’re still wrapped in this quasi-safety bubble in New York, but what’s to say it won’t fall apart once they get back. And what if the Dragon’s words never actually come true, and their supposed path never shows the way?

“I don’t know,” she says, and the words sound just as apprehensive as she feels.

She waits, again, for Killian to fall asleep so she can form the words of her affections without having to really tell him.

Things are easier with their fake relationship gone and a real one in place. It’s somehow even more comfortable when they collapse onto the couch at the end of the day and she can openly engage him in some quality make-out time. Killian’s kisses are perfect and hypnotic, a fact that annoys her and pleases her all at the same time. They still both feel a presence at their backs when they walk down the streets, but when he kisses the back of her hand or she pulls him close for a hug, it’s not for their audience anymore. It’s just for them.

She almost forgets that there’s some mysterious villain lurking around the corner until she bumps into Walsh in the middle of January, running straight into him even though she only glanced down to look at her phone for a second.  

“I’m so sor – oh, Walsh. Hi.” Given how much she’s seen him in the last couple months, she’s beyond any sense of being nice and straight into irritation. She _knew_ the sidewalk was clear when she looked down.

“Emma! It’s so nice to see you. How’s it been?” Lurking below the politeness of his inquiry is that same oily feeling she got from him at the hotel. He’s standing inside her personal bubble but it seems like any time she tries to edge back, he’s right there with her.

“Life’s good, job’s good, kid’s good.” It’s not the rudest thing she’s ever said, at least.

“And how about the boyfriend? He good, too? Or did your rebound already get booted?”

“Not that it’s _any_ of your business, we’re better than ever.” It takes everything in her not to physically push him away, so she reins in her emotions with a few calming breaths. “Look, I’m sorry it didn’t work out between us, but you need to stop following me.”

“What do you mean?” He’s still way too close, and if she’s not mistaken, he’s attempting to loom over her.

“I have lost track of the number of times I’ve seen you ducking around corners and behind telephone poles, at this point, Walsh. You’ve been following me and Killian, and I’m pretty sure you’re keeping tabs on my son. You need to back off.” Instead of backing away, she stands her ground, straightening her spine and bracing for whatever he has to say.

She’s not expecting him to chuckle, for him to casually shove his hands into his pockets as he rocks back on his heels. “You know, I actually liked you, but you clearly have no idea what you’re up against.”

“What?”

“I said,” he enunciates, “that you have _no_ idea. Not just about what I’ve been doing, but what’s out there waiting for you, Emma.”

She _knew_ she should’ve trusted her instincts about him after she saw him at the hotel. He’s connected to all of this, but just who _is_ he? And does he mean the threat is in the city or could he be talking about Storybrooke? “So tell me, what’s waiting for me?”

“Oh, you and the captain will find out soon enough. You’ll never get back home, Emma.”

Her eyebrows furrow and she frowns at that. “Is that a threat?”

“It’s the truth,” he says with no hesitation. He sighs, turning on his heel and pacing the length of sidewalk they’re on. “I wish you hadn’t taken that potion.”

He was saving the craziest line for last, apparently. “What?”

“You couldn’t leave well enough alone.” He turns, pointing at her in emphasis, and it finally clicks in Emma’s brain that she should _at least_ be worried that Walsh’s eyes glow red.

“Who _are_ you?”

He doesn't answer. Not explicitly anyway -- instead, he advances on her menacingly, his face the picture of fury.

The implicit answer, of course, is that he's bad fucking news. It’s not like this is that much of a surprise because she should be used to things not being what they appear by now.

It's probably for the best that she doesn't have her gun with her right now, because, "Local Woman Shoots Ex-Boyfriend" isn't the kind of headline she's in the mood to deal with, and the way he's coming at her, she's pretty damn sure he wouldn't back off if she pulled out a firearm. It's not like she hasn't had to hold her own while unarmed before.

When he comes at her, she does what comes naturally; she ducks, letting him practically trip over her and go flying over a railing down into a basement stairwell. Shit, that's gotta hurt.

But there's no time to check on him. She considers – only briefly – bolting and getting home to safety, but now the jig is up and unless she asserts herself big time, Walsh is just going to go after Henry and Killian. Yes, Henry's at school, and she could just pick him up to make sure he doesn't come home alone. But she can't do that every day, and eventually, Walsh will strike. And Killian – even though _he_ can hold his own against Walsh, she can imagine a hostage situation with the bookshop owners or something. If he's really been following them, then everyone they know in the city is officially in danger if the altercation doesn’t end here.

No, she has to find some kind of weapon, and find one now, so she can make it clear to Walsh that whatever his game is, he's going to regret threatening her, and her family.

She can hear his pained groans as she searches for something, anything, that'll work. But for once, just her luck, the street and sidewalk are spotless. Did he prepare for this or something? How the hell did he manage to confront her in the only deserted, clean street in the entire city?

The sounds coming from behind her change, suddenly, in a way that sends an electric chill down her spine. A weapon will have to wait.

She turns to find not Walsh, but a flying monkey crawling its way out of the stairwell.

Well, _shit._

She does need a weapon. Violent ex-boyfriends and runaway teens and drunken bar brawlers, she can handle with her bare hands. But not a flying monkey.

Desperately, as the flying monkey that apparently used to be Walsh – and _seriously_?! – begins to flap its wings menacingly, she shoves her hands into her pockets. What does she have?

Phone? Yeah, like the police are gonna get here in time to see this.

Stick of gum? Her heart flutters, since it's the only flavor Killian likes, so it's the flavor she's switched to. But it's not going to help.

Wallet? Maybe monkey Walsh accepts bribes?

Keys – _keys!_

She pulls out her keys, fitting them between her fingers as best she can. It's not ideal, and the one time before this she tried to use them like this, she'd just dropped them and had to resort to her Taser. But she's got keys, so she's going to use keys.

Walsh seems to find this very amusing, grinning evilly and showing off extremely unnaturally pointy teeth as he does so. And then he's leaping at her.

She tries to time her slash as best she can, infusing it with all the hope she has for what making it out of this alive will give her. Her love for her family rushes through her heart and she just hopes. She expects that, best case scenario, she's going to end up on the pavement, probably smacking the back of her head on it, while his much, much more effective-looking claws do to her what she's hoping her keys will do to him.

She does not expect to stay standing, as Walsh is thrown backwards into the side of a building. He hits the bricks with so much force that, to her shock, there's suddenly no flying monkey. There's just a cloud of ash, floating in the air.

What the hell? How do keys do that?

It's then that she realizes the keys are warm in her hand. It takes little more than a second for her eyes to focus on the keychain. The little cartoon version of Snow White flows up at her, and Emma clasps it to her chest. Leave it to her mother to give a hope speech when she’s not even there.

She needs to get to Killian, _now_. If she has magic, that means this is what’s going to get them to Storybrooke, and the life they’ve been living for the last couple weeks is about to drastically change. She checks the time, calculating that by the time she makes it back, Killian should just be getting home from the bookstore.

Much like the day she walked home from the hotel the first time, the journey back to the apartment is filled with a sense of urgency. She bursts through the front door, calling out for Killian before she’s fully closed it.

“What is it, Swan?” His concern is evident as she rounds the corner, straight to where he’s standing and into his waiting arms. “Are you all right, love?”

“It was Walsh,” she manages to say, “but also a flying monkey. I know that sounds crazy but that’s what he looked like.”

“You’re hugging Captain Hook, darling. Nothing sounds crazy. But what happened? Where is he?”

“He’s gone. I got him with a good, old-fashioned shot of magic, thanks to a little helper.” Emma leans back and holds up her keys so that the little Snow White is dangling between their faces. “I think we found our way home.” She tosses the keys onto the island, turning to lightly grip the lapels of the waistcoat Killian is wearing.

“That’s brilliant!” With how excited he sounds, Emma’s proud of herself for still picking up on the slight disappointment she hears.

“We could stay,” she offers. She looks down to her hands, fiddling with the fabric between her fingers and running one down the chain of his necklace.

“Swan, we couldn’t, and you know that.”

“I know, but I just – I don’t want anything to change. I like us just the way we are right now. Who’s to say when we’ll get a moment of peace from now on? Isn’t this the way it goes? We’ll be hitting the ground running as soon as we cross that town line.”

“Emma,” Killian says, tilting her chin to look at him again. “You know how I feel about you. Neither my feelings nor I will be going anywhere anytime soon. No matter what happens, I’ll be beside you.”

In situations such as this, Emma is terrible with words. So she responds with action instead. She leans forward, pressing her lips to his in what was supposed to be a simple kiss, but she gets caught up in the way he cups the back of her head and delves a little deeper. He hums low, and she thinks about resisting, but her blood is still pumping way too fast from the encounter with a _flying freaking monkey_ so if this gets a little out of hand, she’s perfectly okay with that.

“Your thoughts right now are pretty loud, Swan, but your son will be home in an hour. Do we have enough time?”

She considers it for barely a second before replying. “Yes, because who knows when we’ll have a moment alone again.”

They take advantage of every quiet minute they can, savoring the calm before the chaos that they’ll have to incite to set their course back to Storybrooke. Killian, without saying the words, reminds her how he feels with every contact of his skin to hers. She tries to tell him in every kiss, every soft sigh, every whispered request that she feels the same way.

If tomorrow, and the next day, and the next day bring a cacophony of whatever it is they’re about to walk into, then this time they take for themselves is everything she could’ve asked for.

Killian puts himself back together faster than Emma does, afterwards, and she lounges on the bed while she watches him finish up the buttons on his shirt. It’s only once he decides to put a vest back on that she clambers up on slightly unsteady legs, standing before him and doing those buttons up for him. He doesn’t _need_ her to do it, she just knows that it’s her fault he had to pick the one that takes more work because she knocked one of the clasps off of the other one in her haste to get him naked earlier.

His hand eases along her side as she works, his eyes fixed on her face and his bottom lip caught under his teeth as he watches her. She doesn’t say anything, just finishes her task and gives him a kiss on the cheek before sending him out with a request for grilled cheese tonight. A little comfort will go a long way in easing her tonight.

She makes a list of the quick and easy things they can accomplish while Henry is in school tomorrow. Killian will have to let the bookstore owners know, and they’ll have to pack. She doesn’t want to have to send for their stuff to be packed and sent, so she figures they can just take as much as they can and alert the landlord. Everything else, she figures, is replaceable. They’ll have the important stuff with them, and all their clothes.

By the time the weekend comes around, Emma and Killian have packed everything they want to salvage from the apartment, from this life they’ve built over family dinners and with calm affection. They rent a small trailer they hitch to the back of the bug and repeat the steps they made after Emma first took the potion.

This time, however, it’s with just as much urgency, but no panic. As they get ready to walk out the door, Emma picks her leather jacket up from the back of the kitchen chair she placed it on earlier. Sliding it on feels like sliding on the past, and she delights in the fact that she’s likely going to see her parents before the day is out. She looks around the space that was theirs, and marvels at how cold the rooms feel without the touches of them scattered around. For more than a year, this was her home, but she’s definitely ready to leave it. Even the plants are packed, at Killian’s insistence.

The ride to Maine is thankfully peaceful, and not a single unseen creature follows their movements at any point during the journey. Unfortunately, the drive is just as long as it was the last time they made it, and she finds her thoughts wandering as she drives past scenery she’s sure to have memorized at this point. Out of the corner of her eye, she watches Killian observing the landscape and fidgeting with his fake hand; he’ll likely have the hook back by the end of the week, and she’s almost looking forward to it.

Some thought from the moment they were initially leaving town springs back into her memory, and Emma smiles as she thinks of the new joke: _a savior, a pirate, and the truest believer are riding in a car…_ At least, this time she’s heading towards her future instead of away from it.

Henry is asleep in the back seat once more, but this time when Emma pulls up to the location, the sign is there. The line is there. There’s just the faintest hints of a green fog hanging around the partition, but at least they can get back in. With one last deep breath, Emma shifts the car into gear and accelerates forward. At the last second, she holds out her hand to Killian. Their fingers link together just as they cross over into Storybrooke.


End file.
